


Stick It

by noussommeslessquelettes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sports, Angst, Aromantic Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Dancing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone's an athlete, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gymnastics, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pansexual Lance (Voltron), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, because I'm a sucker for dancing, but a lot more in the background haha, it's never specific but he's definitely not monosexual, it's never specified in words but it is canon in this fic, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noussommeslessquelettes/pseuds/noussommeslessquelettes
Summary: After a run-in with the law, former national phenom turned delinquent Keith Kogane is forced to return to the regimented world of elite gymnastics, facing old foes and new challenges.





	1. Dead Endo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith finds out the hard way that you can only run from your past for so long before you get caught. The same rule applies for police cruisers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Welcome to the first chapter of Stick It. This fanfiction is a loose adaptation of one of my favourite movies (and pretty much objectively the best gymnastics movie out there tbh) of the same name, but it’s also a bit of a love letter of mine to gymnastics. I wrote this entirely out of self-indulgence, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy it!  
> Extra note: Okay, so this fic was written in February (it's taken so long to post because I needed to focus on my uni classes, and I didn't have the spare time between school and work to edit it till I was confident to post until now), which as I'm sure you are aware was before the unveiling of Allura's age range. This fic has incredibly minor Shallura that does NOT escalate to a romantic relationship (like it's mentioned a total of like four times in the whole thing, and two of those instances are in the first two chapters). This was written in the belief that Allura is a canon adult, and was not meant to be a normalisation of an adult/minor relationship nor a portrayal of such. I do not partake in discourse, so please do not send me hate over this. Thanks in advance for understanding, and I hope you enjoy!!!

Keith stood astride his BMX bike, overlooking the site of a house’s development lot. In behind the house lay the dig out of an enormous pool, currently empty save the presence of two skateboarders. They rode their boards along the bottom of the pool, practicing kick flips and ollies with such fervent concentration that neither appeared to notice Keith’s arrival. After watching the taller of the pair wipe out, Keith made his decision to move, pedalling up to the edge of the pool until his front tire dipped, then letting gravity tug him down the curve of the wall.

It was then that the boarders noticed him, halting their activities. Jumping off his board, the shorter boy paced up to meet him. “No. No, no, sorry bro.” He held out his hands and shook his head fervently. “This _casa es_ not _su casa_ , okay? No way.”

Keith dragged his foot along the bottom of the pool to brake, tilting his chin up defiantly as he stopped in front of the boy. “Get out. There’s like six other empty pools.”

The boarder furrowed his brow. “They’re not as deep.”

“You’re not that good.” The boy’s eyes went wide with indignation. Keith dipped his head to hide a smirk under his hood. He’d taken the bait.

The boy thrust an angry finger up, pointing to the house. “Off the roof, down the slide, and into the pool stays.”

* * *

Fall Out Boy’s “ _I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me_ ” blared through Keith’s headphones as he charged up the main staircase, bike in hand, to keep up with the pace of his challenger. His opponent jeered at him once they made it to the upper floor, saying something crude most likely, but the music had drowned him out. Keith really didn’t care what he’d said; he had no time to waste on amateurs like them. He followed the other out a window and up onto the roof, their sneakers scraping against the newly laid shingles as the warm Texan sun beat down on them.

The pair settled on the highest of three sequential construction platforms, which led down in a clear trajectory toward the top of the pool’s slide. A ladder lay diagonally leading from the highest platform to the middle one, but past that there was only empty space to tie the makeshift course together. Keith tried to picture his path as the other stood in silence next to him, presumably doing the same. He drew a route down with his eyes, tilting his head to try and get a better sense of where he was going to go. _Off the platform, grind down the ladder…_ Keith pondered. Out the corner of his eye he saw his opponent shake his arms out, his entire body seeming to quake with nerves as he built up the courage for what he was about to do. Keith scoffed. _Amateur_ , he reiterated.

He stood back, astride his bike once more, as he allowed the boarder to take position at his starting point.

“Go, GC, let’s do it!” the other cheered from the edge of the pool, clearly much more confident than his friend up top.

After taking a shaky breath, ‘GC’ pushed off, picking up speed from the platform, and lifting off it to grind down the ladder. Making it down to the second level, he executed an air half to hop down onto the third and final construction platform. Keith was mildly impressed, hardly expecting him to make it that far given his earlier beginner fumbles. He jumped off the final platform, landing with all four wheels on the slide, rolling down and picking up speed for its bottom upcurve. Disembarking from the end of the slide, he reached down to grab his board, spinning his body once around before opening out to land.

Keith probably noticed it before he did. His shoulders were pitched too far back when he opened out. Keith found himself idly wondering how rough the bottom of the pool would feel—the boy had only been wearing a t-shirt, after all. A moment later, his wheels hit, too far forward for his body, and the board was shot forward like a bullet from a gun out from under his feet. The boarder, on the other hand, flew back ass first onto the ground, hands flailing back to try and break his fall as he crashed. He slid forward with his momentum, eventually coming to a stop on his back. His friend jumped, shouting something in concern. Keith leaned over his handlebars to get a better look. The boy rolled off his back and stood, pumping his fist in the air once to show that he was alright, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. Keith sighed, wondering how they’d seen themselves as a threat when merely surviving was a cause for their celebration.

He turned to face Keith next, shouting something that vaguely looked like “beat that!” Though he was sure that they couldn’t see it under his hood, Keith levelled a bored glare at him. He pushed off the ground, pedalling up to the edge of the platform and starting off. Grinding his wheels against the ladder, he made his way effortlessly down to the second platform. Not to be outdone, he executed a 360˚ jump down to the third. Pedalling hard and leaning his weight into his handlebars, he dropped down onto the slide. He felt his stomach drop as gravity pulled him down the slope, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he anticipated flying airborne. He pushed hard into his handlebars as he took off at the end of the slide, kicking his bike out from under him and twisting the frame twice around, dropping his shoulders beneath it to let it spin over his head. Pulling the frame back between his legs, he landed perfectly, lifting his front wheel slightly before hitting to cushion the landing.

Now he’d clearly won, but Keith wasn’t finished yet. Pumping his legs against the pedals, he pushed himself up the side of the pool, doing a quick X-up and turning back down the makeshift half pipe. He caught a glimpse of the two boarders as he landed, jaws slack and eyes wide. He smirked.

 _Watch this_.

He pedalled across the bottom of the pool, riding up a board that formed an incline against the opposite wall and backflipping out onto the deck. Over his music, he heard the blood pulsing in his ears, getting caught up in the weightlessness he felt, the freedom it brought him.

His wheels hit the ground, and he was brought face to face with reality, in the form of an enormous glass window.

 _Shit._ Keith’s eyes went wide in panic. It was six feet away. He’d forgotten about the house. It was four feet away. His bike had no brakes. It was two feet away. And he had no way out. He ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

In a small, hopeful corner of Keith’s mind, he entertained the thought that he could very well just bounce off the window. It had a crosshatch of metal bearings supporting it, theft prevention was always a strong concern among homeowners, and really who would move into a house this expensive if the windows couldn’t bear the force of a miniscule twenty-something boy and his bike crashing headlong into it? That just seemed like a robbery waiting to happen.

Of course, Keith knew better than to trust wishful thinking.

His front tire hit first, Keith feeling the impact of the collision shudder through his handlebars, and glass showered over him as the window shattered. The burglar alarm shrieked, loud enough to drown out the sound of his headphones, his heart, and the majority of the ongoing calamity. His tires hit the floor, his momentum hardly slowed by the impact. Keith lifted his head, realising immediately that his string of bad luck wasn’t ending yet.

“Shit,” he repeated, aloud this time, panic fresh in his voice as his concern was renewed by an oncoming metal railing, blocking his inevitable path. His bike crashed into it, launching Keith over the handlebars. He hung in the air for an infinitely long second before he came down hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him as he bounced across the hardwood and slid to a stop. Groaning, he curled himself up as he regained his bearings. He rolled over to his hands and knees, staring down at the backs of his hands as he tried to get back his breath. He was momentarily thankful for having the foresight to wear gloves and a helmet, since it had kept the damage from the crash to a minimum.

His headphones having been knocked out of his ears from the impact, the house’s alarm bore a pounding headache into his skull, and reality started to seep slowly back to him.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” He heard a voice shout from the outside. Keith was brought back to the situation, realising he had to move, and fast. He pushed up onto his feet and ran back to his bike, rounding the railing and dropping onto his knees next to it. The filigree metalwork of the railing had embedded itself deep inside of the spokes of his front tire, and Keith planted a foot against it as leverage, desperately trying to yank the wheel free.

“Come on, come on!” Keith grunted, gritting his teeth with every pull, each just as unsuccessful as the last. As if the situation could not get any worse, Keith picked up the sound of distant police sirens under the wail of the house alarm. _Leave it_ , he thought. _Just fucking run_.

Pushing off on all fours, Keith scrambled to his feet and broke into an immediate sprint, leaving the house and the bike behind. The police sirens grew ever closer, and Keith hopped over a fence, hoping that the boarders had split up and gone into another direction, leading the cop cars away. He found his run encumbered by the weight of his clothes, so as he ran he pulled off his hoodie, along with the sweater beneath that, and threw his helmet off. He lamented that it was probably ill-advised to leave a trail of clothing for the police to follow behind, but he knew that his best chance lay with his speed. If anyone could outrun the cops, as he had proven time and time again, it was Keith. He turned a corner out to a dirt road, skidding to a stop as he saw a police car drive past on the main road it let out towards. He continued his escape in the opposite direction, electing to go out onto the next street. Once his feet hit paved road, he slowed down, desperate to catch his breath.

“You’re pushing it, Keith.” He heard a familiar voice call over a police car’s intercom, the siren coming from right behind him now. He groaned and, despite knowing he was doomed, started running once more.

* * *

 

Keith didn’t shy away from the tattletale reputation he’d gained at his local police station. Rather, Keith took pride in the fact that in the few times the cops had managed to catch him, he’d always had dirt on the other so-called “delinquents” he had encountered on the streets. It had meant his freedom every time. Usually just a quick description of a guy he saw in possession of some shady pills or picking some dirtbag out of a lineup was all the police asked from him to clear his name. After all, Keith wasn’t really a danger to society. The local police saw him just as a piss off deadbeat who had discipline problems, not as some sort of criminal. He sometimes suspected that the sheriff took pity on him—everyone in the county knew Keith’s story, but really it was only the sheriff who showed him sympathy—and would let him off easy even when Keith was being a little shit.

But today, Keith had a gut feeling he wasn’t getting off. He didn’t have any new dirt to spill, and he could tell he’d done some serious property damage. He rode in the back of the sheriff’s car, hands cuffed and folded over his lap. The sheriff’s fingers tapped an unrecognisable beat against the steering wheel.

“Y’alright back there, son?” The sheriff asked, looking over her shoulder when they were stopped at a red light. “You look a bit worse for wear, all banged up ‘n whatnot.” She gave him a sympathetic look, before turning around to watch the road.

Keith shrugged his shoulders. “’m fine. Got a good look at the other two who busted the house, by the way.” Not one of his best offers, but two arrests for the price of one was still a good deal, he hoped.

“Y’ain’t gettin’ off that easy, I’m afraid.”

Keith pursed his lips, not giving in quite yet. “Need an I.D? A name? A face?”

She shook her head. “Keith, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to book you for this.”

Keith closed his eyes, head thumping back on the headrest as he sighed dejectedly. “Don’t.”

“I’ve done all I can, son. I’ve given you more than enough chances, but this time it’s on you.” Her voice hardened towards the end, and Keith could sense her disappointment in it. _Add another to the list,_ Keith thought drily.

* * *

 

Keith really never knew what he was supposed to imagine court would be like, but somehow it looked nothing like he had expected. For one thing, it was fairly small. The empty box for the jury sat pressed to the wall but a mere two paces from his place in the centre of the bench, facing the judge. For another, it was fairly empty, with barely a half-dozen people in the room itself. Off on the other side, the stenographer typed away, and Keith tuned in to the sound of the keys clacking, wanting his mind to be anywhere else than on this proceeding. His parents sat together in the empty audience behind him, the weight of their concerned stares boring into the back of Keith’s skull. He rubbed a hand at his neck to try and distract himself from the sensation, to no avail.

Two seats down from him, the sheriff stood to address the judge’s question, pulling Keith’s attention back into the room. “It looks to be about fourteen thousand dollars in property damage.” He heard a sharp gasp come from behind him, and resisted the urge to turn around and glare at his parents. The judge then turned their gaze onto Keith, and he forced himself to meet their eyes.

They frowned earnestly. “Keith, I assure you that criminal incarceration is not as fun as it may sound. Since this is your first offense, we’re going to give you one last chance. Your parents are willing to subsidize two options outside of prison: the Texas Military Academy, or,” they paused, lowering their glasses to examine something more closely on their desk, “a facility… called VGA.”

Keith’s heart dropped at those words. There was no way he had heard the judge right. VGA? Impossible. He twisted around to look back at his parents, uncaring of court etiquette anymore. They both wore a weak smile, edged with a slight guilt.

“Well then Keith,” they continued, and Keith spun back to face them, “I leave it to you to decide. Where would you like to go?”

He set his resolve firmly. “Texas Military Academy, your honor.”

They smiled. “VGA it is.” They slammed the gavel down, and Keith’s jaw dropped, eyes wide in horror.

“What?”

* * *

To say the ride home was tense would be the understatement of the century. Keith sat in the back seat, totally silent, as his parents exchanged the barest of words possible throughout the whole drive. A stiff, awkward peace had been drawn up as everyone refused eye contact with one another until they pulled into the driveway. The car had hardly been parked by the time Keith shoved his door open, slamming it behind him as he trudged up the house’s front steps and swung the front door open. He made his way upstairs to his room to get ready to pack. The judge had informed him that they wanted him down at VGA by tomorrow morning, so he had only a few hours left to pack everything he would want to take down to Houston. He yanked a dresser drawer open, nearly pulling it off its moorings when it slid far too easily. It was empty.

“What the fuck?” He reached to open the drawer atop it and found that one to be empty as well. He threw them both shut and walked over to his closet, swinging its doors open to find it bare.

“Keith…” a tentative voice called from over his shoulder. He spun around to see both of his parents peering through the open doorway, brows furrowed in an unsaid apology.

“Where’s my shit.” Keith deadpanned. He shut the closet and crossed his arms over his chest.

His father stepped in to the piece now, arms opened towards him. “We packed it all for you already. It’s all downstairs, ready to go.”

Keith’s shoulders sagged, and he dropped his eyes to the floor. “Why are you doing this to me. Why VGA?”

His mother spoke up next, “Keith we don’t know what to do with you any more.” They both walked over, and she squeezed his arm with her hand, bending down to try and meet his downcast eyes. “We’ve tried everything, and you won’t listen to anyone. Not us, not the cops.” Keith bit his tongue, turning away. He knew what was coming next. “You used to be such a good kid, what happened?”

He pulled away from his mother. “That’s funny, Natalie. You used to be a good mom. I guess you could say we’re even.” He could tell his words stung his parents, and they stung him too. Though they were his adoptive parents, Keith had always made an effort when he was younger to still call them “mom” and “dad.” In recent years, the tension within the household had made those two names increasingly sparse.

“Keith,” his mother started.

“No I’m serious.” He brought his eyes up to the two of them once more, raising his voice in frustration. “VGA? You have to be kidding me. I left that life behind for a reason, and I am not going back.”

“This is the chance for a fresh start, Keith,” his father interjected. “New town, new life, new you. We just want you to be happy.”

“How can I be happy?” Keith was exasperated, arms gesturing wildly. “You’re forcing me into this! You’re taking away my life, my freedom, all for what, your dream? Whatever you thought I was supposed to be when you adopted me?” He felt tricked, lied to. He was so mad and so hurt and so fucking sick of it.

“Keith _please_ ,” his mother implored, and he could hear her voice breaking. That alone was enough to stop his angry ranting, but the ever-fresh betrayal wouldn’t allow him to move past and apologise. He settled for balling his fists up, and turning away.

“Don’t send me to VGA.” His voice was quiet now, defeated. “Please, don’t send me to VGA.”

They gave him apologetic looks, but he knew they weren’t backing down. His father put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, and the momentary peace was suddenly disturbed by the sound of a car horn in the distance.

“That should be Shiro,” his father spoke now. “He’s going to be driving you down to Houston.”

Keith’s eyes went wide, instantly forgetting his row with his parents. He looked up and towards the door, sensing trepidation settle in his gut. “Shiro?”

* * *

The three of them stepped out the front door. His parents led the way, each with one of Keith’s bags in hand. Keith followed behind, walking down to the bottom of the driveway with shoulders hunched and head bowed, as though he was hoping that if he wasn’t seen, Shiro might just leave without him. He spotted his brother’s black sedan parked in front of the driveway, engine still running as the driver’s door opened. Shiro exited, rounding the front of the car to meet his parents with open arms. They set down their bags as they pulled him in a tight embrace, his mother holding his prosthetic hand in two of hers once the hug had ended. Keith stopped a few feet back, unwilling to join in on this intimate family reunion.

“How’s Houston?” his father asked cheerfully, “Things are going well?”

“Absolutely.” Shiro beamed. “It’s hard work, but always rewarding. And how about up here?” Keith felt his inclusion was inevitable at those words, and he scrounged up the courage to face his brother, lifting his head.

“Well…” his father coughed. “You know…” They all turned to look at Keith now, and he resolved that no matter what, he wouldn’t look away from Shiro. He searched his brother’s eyes, trying to gauge what they reflected. Anger, disappointment, grief?

Relief.

“Keith.” His brother smiled, walking past their parents to close the distance between them and wrap Keith up in a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you.”

Keith felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate a bit, and for a moment, he let himself forget everything that wasn’t this. He returned the hug. It had been months since he’d last seen Shiro, and no matter the circumstances, he was just happy he got to see his big brother again. Shiro pulled away a few moments later, turning back to address their parents.

“Well we should get going. It’s going to be a long drive.” He looked over his shoulder, smile still there. “C’mon Keith, let’s say our goodbyes.”

* * *

After a bittersweet departure, during which Keith, at Shiro’s insistence, did manage to acknowledge his mom and dad, they were off on the two-hour drive from Plano to Houston. Keith found himself taken over by a wave of nostalgia from being once again in the passenger’s seat of Shiro’s car. He remembered Shiro driving with him to and from training every day, how he used to fall asleep in the car during early mornings and late nights, how Shiro would always hum along to the songs that played on the radio, how he begged Shiro to let him sit in the front seat even though mom and dad said he wasn’t big enough, how Shiro always said yes.

At first, the trip had been fairly silent between the two of them. It was a comfortable silence, but with the ever-pressing reality hanging over the two of them. Keith, for one, was perfectly happy to not address that reality. He didn’t want to talk about their circumstances, and if Shiro didn’t either, all the better. But Keith knew his brother too well to hope for that, so he sat in waiting, seeing when Shiro would venture to break the peace.

It happened less than a half an hour out of Houston. “So,” Shiro began, and Keith could tell immediately from the cautious tone where his brother was headed. He groaned, but Shiro continued. “I heard you took a nasty fall. How’re you holding up?”

“Fine. Great, even.” He looked down at his hands, picking at his fraying gloves.

Shiro sighed, and his tone deflated, dropping the pretense. “Keith, why’d you do it? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t, Shiro. You know me.”

“You could’ve gotten hurt, and you cost thousands of dollars in damage. What happened to you? You used to—”

“Don’t.” Keith interrupted. “Just… don’t, Shiro. I already got that speech from mom and dad. ‘I used to be such a good kid,’” he recited, “I get it,” he muttered.

Shiro was silent for a moment, then he spoke again, his voice picking up. “Well I know you still are, Keith.” Keith looked up at his brother, who was now wearing a smile despite the situation. “And VGA is your chance to prove it.”

Keith groaned, realisation striking him. “Ugh, I should’ve known. This was all your idea, wasn’t it?”

“VGA? Yeah, that was my idea.” His mouth has stretched into a grin now as Keith’s sunk into a pout. “C’mon Keith, lighten up. This is going to be good: the two of us, reunited again. And you’re going to love Allura.”

“Allura?” Keith’s ears perked up at that name. “You mean The Princess?”

“Well, I mean,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “now that she’s retired, she prefers just Allura, y’know?” Keith didn’t miss how Shiro’s eyes softened at the mention of her, and he wondered if there was something he’d missed about his brother in their two years of relative disconnect. “She’s great, though. She really knows her stuff, and she’s tough, but fair. I think you two are going to get along like a house on fire.”

Keith rolled his eyes. His brother clearly had missed some of Keith’s development in the past two years too. “Well you know if there’s one thing I love, it’s strict adherence to rules.”

His brother was silent at his sarcasm for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next. He gripped his hands on the wheel a bit harder, and Keith grimaced as he saw the joints of his prosthetic hand tighten, a sinking guilt settling deep in his belly. “… We’re not asking you to do anything, Keith. All we want is for you to try it, just one more time.”

“You know I walked away from that world two years ago.”

“I know you did, and I’m sorry for that.” Shiro said, eyes downcast.

Keith looked down at his hands again, returning the two of them to the heavyheartedness they’d felt at the start of the conversation. “It’s not your fault, Shiro. It wasn’t because of you. But still, I can’t go back.”

“You won’t be going back. This time will be different. New team, new town, new you.”

Keith smiled, but put on a fake exasperation, trying his best to lighten the mood. “Ugh, you sound just like dad now. When did you become such an old man?” Shiro smiled, and Keith gave an awkward laugh.

“Working for a living does that to you, Keith.” He wondered if that was a playful jab as his… alternative lifestyle.

“What was the deal with Allura hiring you, anyway?” Again, he noted that Shiro looked a bit bashful at the mention of her name, and grew determined to figure out what the deal was between them. Were they dating? Was it complicated? Or did Shiro just have a big ol’ awkward crush?

“Well I mean, after Alfor passed away, she was given ownership of their club.” Keith nodded in understanding. He vaguely remembered hearing that her father, who had moved the two of them from Britain to open up a gym and pursue her Olympic dream, had died suddenly some time in the past two years. That was, however, the extent of his knowledge. “A lot of people left the gym after that. They thought Allura was too young and inexperienced to be able to bring VGA the glory it once had. So, she was looking for new coaches and athletes. She’d heard about my…” his voice trailed off, fingers of his prosthetic hand drumming across the steering wheel, and Keith suppressed a grimace. “… _incident_ , and approached me with a job offer during my rehab. Of course, I accepted immediately, and I’ve been with VGA ever since.”

“… Iverson kicked you to the curb after Worlds?” Keith muttered.

Shiro shrugged. “I don’t think either of us really wanted to go back to Iverson after Worlds, Keith. I made my decision, it had nothing to do with Iverson.”

“So… you’re still coaching, then?” He wondered how Shiro had so easily and so eagerly returned to his work, when Keith was here about ready to fight tooth-and-nail to get the hell out.

“Well, with my hand the way it is, it isn’t too safe for me to spot much. I’m still kind of getting used to it, and it’s not exactly made of the softest material.” He chuckled for Keith’s benefit, but it did little to alleviate his apprehension on the subject. “So I’ve been working a lot more on coaching with my words instead of with my hands. I’ve also made myself useful as a mat jockey, and helping out with administration whenever I can.” He smiled warmly, and his voice grew softer. “Allura gave me a chance when no one else really would, Keith. When no one should have, to be honest.”

Big ol’ crush it was, then. “Jeez Shiro, if you love her so much why don’t you marry her?”

His cheeks grew red and his jaw dropped as he sputtered, trying to refute that. “I-I didn’t—it’s not like that, Keith!” Keith snorted as Shiro tried to act aloof, clearly failing. “I meant that she… she’s my _boss_ , you know that, right?”

Keith held his hands up in surrender. “Alright Shiro, I’ll drop it.”

Shiro was silent for another few seconds, regaining a bit of composure. When he spoke again, it was with his big brother voice. “I want you to try and be nice to everyone at VGA, Keith.”

“I’m not here to make friends, Shiro.” He sighed, hoping this would be the last of Shiro’s lecturing.

“You don’t have to, just don’t…” he searched for the right words, but inevitably came short. “Just don’t be a complete asshole, okay? You can do that much for me.”

“Using the brotherly love card? Y’know, if I’d done that I wouldn’t be coming here in the first place.” Keith pouted, sinking into his seat.

Shiro shook his head. “Nope. I’m making you come here out of brotherly love, so it’d’ve gotten you nowhere. We’re here, by the way.” He pulled off onto a dirt road.

“Great,” Keith deadpanned, feeling the dread settle in his gut as he knew all too well it’d be anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No klance q u i t e yet, but don’t fret, we’ll see the introduction of everyone’s favourite sharpshooter in the next chapter! If you’re enjoying this fic, please kudo, comment (literally even just a bunch of exclamation points would make my day), and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)  
> from me! If you have any questions or u just wanna say something to me, shoot me an ask over there! Thanks so much for reading!


	2. A Rebel Without Applause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith discovers that he’s not the only one who’s unhappy about him being at VGA, as he encounters an old rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These Boys™ tho. Also this chapter has my favourite line from the movie in it. Actually, it was because of this line that I wrote the whole damn fic in the first place, bc I have no drawing skills but I really wanted it to exist. Since I’m the one who wrote the chap, I’m not entirely sure if y’all will be able to pick it out, but if you’ve watched the movie already you’ll probably know (namely bc it’s one of the few lines I took verbatim from the movie lol)
> 
> Also, from this chapter on, we're going to be starting to talk about gymnastics proper, so if you don't know a whole lot about gymnastics (I have no idea what normal ppl know and don't because I like...... I know too much >.>;;;) I'd suggest you check out [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLMdWIq7fi8) from the International Gymnastics Federation. It's less than 4 mins long so like if ur curious check it out! It's not /necessary/ to understand the fic, but if you get stumped about what the hell I'm talking about it might help ^^;;
> 
> There will also be hyperlinks to skills/routines at the end of each chapter they're mentioned in (unless I forget some lmao) if you need help visualising what I'm talking about haha

“You ready?” Shiro asked, peering into Keith’s field of vision to make sure he was still present.

Keith had craned his head up, and was looking at the sign that positioned itself atop the double set of glass entrance doors. The acronym ‘VGA’ was emblazoned across the white canvas in bright red letters.

He sighed, his entire body deflating in defeat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Shiro stepped in front of him, pulling open the doors to let them both step inside.

After a short trip through a darkened main hallway, they reached a solitary windowless door. Shiro put his hand on the doorknob and froze, looking back at Keith one more time and offering an encouraging smile. Then he thrust the door open, and fluorescent light spilled out from the doorway, into the hall. Keith squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden light as he followed Shiro through the entrance.

Voltron Gymnastics Academy was, in one word, huge. Keith scanned his eyes across the facility, estimating that it was twice the size of his former gym in Plano, although it would stand to reason when he saw that the facility contained both men’s and women’s gymnastics equipment. The gym was pristine, with a unifying red-and-white colour scheme on each set of equipment, and not a piece of it was out of place. Keith wondered how on earth a gym, full of hyperactive kids and teenagers, managed to look this tidy, when the probable reason behind it walked right up to him, a gentle smile gracing her face.

Allura Altea wore the same poise off the podium as she did on. Standing at an enormous—for a gymnast, Keith reasoned—5’5, she towered over most everyone in the facility, with the exception of Shiro. Still, she managed to carry herself with a delicacy and poise fit for a prima ballerina. Keith remembered watching her, along with the rest of the world, win Olympic golds at two consecutive Games, earning the nickname Princess Allura as the presumed heir to the great Queen Khorkina’s throne (though Keith always suspected it was also due to the posh British accent she had acquired in her childhood, and a tendency for Keith’s own countrypeople to be quite shallow). Of course, Allura managed to achieve what the Queen never had—Olympic all around gold—at her second games, and retired soon after to start coaching. That was the extent of Keith’s memory of her.

She gave Shiro a warm smile, brushing a hand gently against his forearm. Keith quirked an eyebrow at that; was there more to this than just Shiro’s crush? It might make the time he spends here more interesting, to say the least. “Glad to see you two made it here safely. You must be Keith.” She turned to him, flashing a cordial grin his way.

He could feel Shiro’s eyes on him, expectant. “Yep,” Keith replied, folding his arms across his chest.

There was a moment of silence as Allura expected more of a response. When Keith made it evident that he had said his piece, she picked back up. “Oh. Well, come in then, let’s get started.” She turned around and started on her way into the facility, Keith and Shiro following behind her.

“What is _he_ doing here?” An outraged voice echoed across the near-silent facility and froze the three of them in their tracks, all too recognisable for Keith’s liking. Keith groaned. _Fuck me._

Lance McClain. Two-time national team member, ten-time national Keith hater. They had hardly known each other as teammates back at Iverson’s, but what they did know was that they did not get along. Period. Minor arguments had escalated quickly when Lance was around Keith, and he’d always known just how to get under Keith’s skin. Keith turned his head over to where Lance was, standing with his hands frozen over a chalk bin next to the high bar, shirtless and sweaty and covered in chalk. He’d clearly aged from the last time Keith had seen him, but he was still wearing the signature look of disdain Keith was sure he’d saved just for him. Keith’s nose turned up at the sight. Of all the people Keith had left back in the gymnastics community, he’d had high hopes that Lance would be one person he’d never have to see again.

Lance’s words seemed to attract the attention of the rest of the gym, and Keith set his teeth as he suddenly felt like all eyes were on him. From what he gathered with a quick glance across, all of them, with the exception of Shiro and Allura, were giving hard glares. Keith shifted nervously on his feet, but tried his best to keep his expression steely. He hoped it worked.

“Lance,” Shiro warned, an unspoken reprimand left hanging in the open air. Lance put his hands on his hips, but held his tongue nonetheless.

“Everyone, listen up.” Allura announced, pulling Keith by his arm and situating them both in front of the vault runway to face the rest of the gym. “Keith Kogane has very graciously decided to come out of retirement and join us. Let’s all make sure he feels welcome as part of our family here at Voltron.”

The silent, unchanging glares spoke volumes to Keith, though he had expected nothing less. When you walk out of the World Championships mid-competition, forfeiting the USA’s chance at a team gold medal, hate’s pretty inevitable. It’s not personal; it’s national.

Allura then turned her attention back on him. “Get dressed, Keith.”

Keith laughed, putting on mock-regret. “Yeah, I accidentally burned all my workout clothes last year so…” he looked down at his clearly unsuitable attire, slapping his hands against the fronts of his torn-up jeans and looking back to her, “hope this is okay.”

“Keith…” Now he was on the receiving end of Shiro’s open-ended warnings, but he refused to acknowledge his brother. No one said he had to make this easy on anyone, and Keith was not going down without a fight. If they were going to make him do this, then he was going to make this as painful as possible for them all, he had silently resolved.

Allura crossed her arms, dropping her smile as her sterner side began to show in the face of his disrespect. “Have you warmed up?”

“To you?” Keith raised an eyebrow. “No.”

She watched him a second more, then responded, “Not a problem. Then why don’t we have Shiro show you around?”

Keith tilted his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“Shiro.” She turned her attention to him now, pointing a finger to him, then Keith, her shoulder, and to the door, walking in the final direction.

“What was—woah _hey!_ ” Keith exclaimed, as Shiro suddenly grabbed at his waist and hoisted him bodily over his shoulder, following Allura. “Shiro, what the hell?” He kicked his feet in front of Shiro’s face, trying to get his attention. He heard stifled laughter, and turned to give a dark glare at the now upside-down gymnasts.

“Everyone!” Allura shouted right before walking out the door. “Get back to work!”

* * *

 

Keith had no clue where Allura was taking him. For whatever reason, they had gone back outside, but he’d had trouble gathering any other information from what he saw anywhere other than the ground right beneath him.

“Dammit Shiro,” Keith cursed, “your ass is so big I can’t see around it. Where are we going?” Shiro and Allura both stayed silent, neither venturing to answer Keith’s complaints. He heard the rumble of a garage door opening, and tried once more to look around Shiro to see where they were, to no avail. Shiro brought them through the opening, and from what he’d managed to see, Keith could tell that they’d walked into another, less pristine, gym. The frayed mats and collection of dust under their feet told him enough for that to be known.

“This isn’t the real world,” Allura finally spoke up, her tone harsh and unwavering, “this is my world. You don’t need to like me, or VGA, but you do need to respect it.” As if to punctuate that sentence, Shiro dropped Keith down onto a crash mat, sending him coughing as dust flew up from it.

He watched her wave Shiro away, and scoffed at her as he stood up. “And this is how you show respect? You throw people over your shoulder and violate their personal space?” He turned back to sit up on an adjacent beam, hunching over and glowering at her.

She put her hands on her hips. After a moment of pensive silence, she spoke up, the sentence dripping with sarcasm. “Oh boy, Shiro warned me you would be like this. I’m so glad it’s true.”

“I’m sorry, but what is it that you’ve done exactly to earn my respect—”

“We have rules,” She stated, starting her sentence in the middle of Keith’s. “We have rules for training—”

“Ugh.”

“And the reason we have rules,” she continued, unabated, “is because this is a sport—hey!” She snapped when he rolled his eyes, and he raised an eyebrow, but let her continue. “I want you to be back here tomorrow at nine A.M., ready to train. That means in proper uniform and without the attitude.” He scoffed, sliding off the beam to walk away. She grabbed his shoulder when he landed, freezing him with a stern look. “Or we can call the judge, and you can go to jail. It’s your decision.” She let him go, and he stormed off to the door.

“Don’t expect me to train,” he called out, not bothering to look back at her to say it.

“And lose the gloves tomorrow!”

* * *

 

Nine A.M. had come and gone. Mostly due to Shiro’s not-so-gentle persuasion—which involved stealing the blankets off Keith while he slept on his couch, and sitting on him until he got up—Keith had fulfilled his end of the bargain, coming to the gym and walking straight over to the floor, dropping down against the carpeted apparatus and lying back to stare into the fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. Allura had seen him, obviously. The rest of the athletes had lined up in front of her on the floor right on the hour, ready to go out the gym door and start their warm-up run. But Keith had made no attempt to join in the workout, and so Allura made no move to acknowledge his presence.

Keith could do this, he decided. If this was all it took to stay out of prison, and if Allura was willing to give in this quickly, he could do this. Shiro would tell his parents that VGA wasn’t working, he’d be back home by the end of the year, and he’d have his freedom once more. It was as simple as waiting it out.

“Allura!” He heard Lance call out as the athletes filtered back in the gym. _Ugh, or maybe not_ , Keith amended. “When are we going to get the new competition uniforms for championships? I need to look good if I’m going to wow the judges, _and the ladies._ ” Keith looked up to scoff at him, noting that Lance stood at the edge of the floor, a mere few feet away. Lance obviously heard him. “Not that you have to worry about any of that,” he addressed Keith with a scowl.

Keith had considered letting it go, he truly had. But that last remark had been a challenge, and he never backed down from a challenge. He sat up, leaning back on his elbows to get a better look at Lance. “A new uniform might distract the judges and the National Team panel from your lack of talent, Lance. It’s a solid strategy.” His tone was thick with sarcasm.

“Gee, _Pariah Carey_ , I wonder why you’re not worried about impressing the judges.” Keith made a face at Lance, then dropped back to the floor. “Oh that’s right, you don’t matter!” Lance led the other athletes to pass Keith, spreading out onto the floor to start their stretching.

“Hey, filibuster,” Allura finally addressed Keith, hands on her hips as she leaned over to block his view of the ceiling, “you’ll be starting on pommels with Coran today. Get up and get moving.”

“Ugh.” Keith rolled onto his stomach, making sure Allura knew he was going to take his sweet-ass time getting over to pommels.

* * *

 

“Pointy feet! Pointy feet! Point them hard, and win the meet!” Coran recited, clapping out a beat with every other syllable. “Watch your knees on the flairs, Hunk!”

Keith stood next to Coran as he watched the athletes work on the pommel horses. Lance practiced his dismount, pressing up to a handstand and completing a half twist before dropping down and sticking his landing with needless flourish for a training session. _What a pretentious prick,_ Keith thought. _Just because he doesn’t suck as much as he used to, he acts like he owns the fucking place_. Keith walked up to the mat, giving a slow, sarcastic clap, as he shook his head in mock-awe.

“Wow.” he stopped clapping to cross his arms.

Lance turned to him and scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. “ _Déjà_ jealous, Keith? Bring back memories? We trained together at Iverson’s for… how long?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Too long.”

“And he would give you so much attention, because you sucked.”

The words struck a nerve. Keith sneered, baring his teeth. “Yeah that’s right Lance. I _sucked_ my way to Worlds. I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your love of accuracy.”

Lance’s voice was ripe with haughty superiority. “Well at least _I_ didn’t make it to Worlds just to choke.”

That did it. Keith’s face contorted in barely contained rage. “Here, let me show you how to choke.” He lunged at Lance, watching his eyes go wide as he shrieked and jumped back. He got his hands on Lance’s throat, feeling the other’s hands try and push him away while he twisted in Keith’s grip. It was then that Coran seemed to notice the calamity as he scrambled over to stop the fight.

“Boys, boys!” He shouted over Lance’s screams, managing to pry the two apart. He took a deep exhale, dropping his head in relief before bringing it back up to look between the two of them. “I said pointy feet, not pointy words! Pointy words are mouse turds!”

When Coran stepped back, another athlete walked up to Lance and asked if he was alright. He rubbed at his neck, eyes still wide in shock. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” He glared at Keith. “He’s crazy.”

“You know what Lance, you’re so full of shit. Want to know which one of us sucks? I bet you that after two years of no training I could still do your hardest tricks.” Lance scoffed at that, but Keith intended to prove his claims. He turned to the guy standing next to Lance, pointing a finger at him in one hand, and bringing his other up to his ear, thumb and pinky finger jutting out to create a mimed phone. “Hey, big man, pick up.”

He furrowed his brow apprehensively but seemed to pick up on Keith’s charade. He copied Keith, ‘picking up’ his own phone and bringing it up to his ear as well. “Yeah?”

“Hunk, right?” The guy nodded his confirmation.

Lance was incredulous. His mouth opened a few times, no sound coming, before he found his voice. “Hunk, put down the phone!” He demanded.

“What’s the newest tumble string-bean over there’s been working on?” Keith tilted his head in the direction of Lance, ignoring his indignant “hey!” in favour of keeping his eyes trained on Hunk.

“I guess it’d be… a triple-double,” Hunk pondered.

“Wha—Hunk, don’t tell him anything!” Lance sputtered.

Keith turned his head back to Lance, dropping his ‘phone’ as he started walking over to the nearest corner of the floor. “Honestly, Lance? Try and keep up with this quad, or at least make it into the last one.” A few stray athletes followed Lance and Hunk as they followed in turn behind Keith. Some of the athletes on the other apparatus also stopped their work, looking over in curiosity as Keith, fully dressed in his civvies, lined up to tumble across the floor.

“Keith,” Lance warned, and he mused that the tone oddly reminded him of Shiro, “think about what you’re doing.”

Keith ignored him. “A triple-double, then? Let’s see how it goes.” Keith had never trained this tumble out of the pit, but it couldn’t be that hard, right? If Lance could do it, Keith obviously could.

“Enough.” Allura, who had been off to the side discussing something with Shiro, started pacing across the gym towards him. She hurried towards the floor to try and stop Keith from what he was about to do. “You will not be throwing double backs of any kind until you’ve trained them, Keith.”

Keith smirked, rolling out his neck and getting set to go. “You better close your eyes, princess.” With those words, he took off.

Four steps were all he needed to gain enough speed, then he hurdled into his tumble. _Roundoff_ , _handspring_ , he called out in his mind. _Block off and set_. He took off, pulling his shoulders up over his right side and tucking his knees up as he pitched his shoulders back, making his body flip and twist as it lifted away from the floor. Something didn’t feel right about it. From the moment he took off, he felt it. He was flipping too fast. He wasn’t high enough. Fuck, he couldn’t spot his twisting. He hoped that crashing was less painful than he remembered.

By some miracle of God, Keith managed to land feet first, heels digging in when he hit the floor as the rest of his body continued to careen backwards. He pulled himself once more into a tuck to roll back out of it, ending it in a crouch on the ground.

“Keith!” Allura shouted, the group of them running up to see if he was okay. He looked up at her and started to laugh, the relief of still being alive mixing with the utter ridiculousness of their concerned looks. All of it, this gym, their concern, this sport, was just a big joke to him, and Keith knew better than anyone else that everyone involved just took it way too damn seriously.

Allura certainly didn’t seem to appreciate his humour. She bit at her lower lip as she fumed, and Keith could tell she was willing herself not have an outburst. “Everyone, listen up!” She shouted, loud enough that the entire facility seemed to shake under her voice. “Since Keith obviously doesn’t know what discipline looks like, why don’t we show him?” He could hear the whole gym groan, but Allura continued. “Keith, care to join us?”

“No thanks.” He sat down on his ass, shit-eating smirk still on his lips. “I’m kind of tired.”

“Oh, alright.” She indulged his sarcasm with some of her own, before turning to address the rest of the gym. “Everyone! Outside, now!” She clapped her hands twice with finality.

* * *

 

“This is totally unfair!” He heard Lance shout, voice weary with exhaustion as they baked in the late-afternoon sun, running lines back-and-forth on the back lawn.

“We’re going to keep going until Keith participates!” Allura called back, arms folded as she stood and watched. Keith sat on the steps next to her, eyes glued to his phone as he idly researched the newest released photographs of the Loch Ness Monster. He tilted his head from side-to-side, trying to figure out if they were photoshopped, or if Nessie was really in them.

“In that case, we’re going to be here all night!” He heard a girl shout.

“Lift your knees, Pidge!” Allura ignored her concerns in favour of a correction. He felt all their eyes on him, but staunchly refused to meet their gazes. They couldn’t hate him any more than they already did, so what’s the use in trying to make them like him?

“Keith,” Shiro started from Keith’s other side, but Allura lifted a hand to stop him.

“No, Shiro. This is a decision he has to make on his own.”

Keith smirked. Allura obviously had no idea what she was getting herself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have your guesses locked in as to which line made me devote months of my spare time to writing this thing? Ready for the answer? It was Coran’s “pointy feet not pointy words” line lmao. So yeah u can thank Coran Coran the gorgeous man for over 77k of slowburn and klance and gymnastics, and I can thank him for all the 3 A.M.s I stayed up to see just so I could write this thing (hyperfocus ftw but also rip in reese’s pieces to my already dead sleep schedule)  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)! (  
> I’ve uploaded the fic in full so I’m sorry that this is gonna get repetitive but on the off chance someone doesn’t finish it in one sitting I’d like to put the reminder down at the end of each chap >.>) Again, thanks so much for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [ The triple-double ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cTTdJxsgAI/)


	3. Allura's Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura offers Keith a way out of gymnastics, but there’s a catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naughty Keiths get taken to the 24h diner to atone for their sins. Also note to ppl who have already watched the original movie: I’ve changed Keith’s motives around from Haley’s because… well, Keith and Haley are two different people. So like yeah if u were wondering if the catalyst for all this is gonna be the same as it was in the original it’s not, if only because I wanted to give Keith something that I think he’d react more strongly to, and plus as I’ve said before it’s a loose adaptation, it’s not supposed to be a direct transposition of VLD characters into the universe.

Keith thought it was ridiculous that Shiro wouldn’t let him stay at his place past the first night. Nonetheless, Shiro had insisted that Keith live on VGA’s grounds with the rest of the boarding athletes. He’d said something about Keith bonding with his teammates on Voltron, but he knew that was pointless. They all hated him, and Keith really didn’t give enough of a damn to want to care for them either. All in all, it just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

Shiro had dropped him off at the athlete’s residence late that night, driving away as Keith walked up to the front of the small house. When he got to the door, he jiggled the knob and found that it refused to budge.

“Hey!” he called through the door, banging a fist against it. “Hey, you guys!” No answer. He backed away from the door, shouting to an upstairs window. “Well, are you going to make me to pick the lock, or what?” Hunk came to the window, and Keith felt a small relief at seeing a familiar face. “Could you… could you come let me in?” He backed away from the window, and Keith spent a split second being grateful, until Lance returned to the window with Keith’s duffel bag in hand. He tossed it out unceremoniously onto the front lawn, and Keith had to sidestep to not get crushed by it. “Oh, great, _thank you!_ ” Keith sneered.

“Get lost.” He heard a voice call out from behind the window before Lance slammed it shut. He groaned. They obviously hadn’t forgiven him for that morning… and afternoon… into the evening. Keith sighed, starting to wonder if he had gone a bit too far that day. He dragged his duffel bag beside him, sitting down on the porch and picking at his nails.

He heard the sound of crunching gravel and a set of squeaky brakes being applied. He looked up to see a sleek blue convertible that had pulled up to the front of the house, Allura at its wheel. “Keith,” she said, patting the seat next to her, “let’s go for a little drive.” Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Keith obliged.

* * *

 

The night air was crisp and cool as it ran across his face, whipping his hair in all directions. Allura was silent in the driver’s seat, and Keith was thankful for it, content to spend the drive watching the peaceful scenery move past the car. VGA was located far out of town, if the expanses of green field and relative absence of city lights was to be believed. The only consistent sources of light were the headlights of the car and a digital clock on the dash of the car, blinking 10:27 when he had hopped in. Eventually, Allura pulled off into a near-empty parking lot, occupied by one solitary building. It looked dingy and dimly-lit, a neon sign reading ‘Cadillac Babs’ gracing its front. Wordlessly, Allura parked the car and got out, and Keith took this as his invitation to follow her to the front doors.

“Thanks,” he muttered automatically when she waited to hold the door open for him. She acknowledged it with a sterile smile, then led him over to a booth by the front windows, sitting across from him and picking up a menu to peruse.

_Now_ , Keith thought after over a minute of wordlessly waiting for her to speak,  _the silence is awkward_ . 

He picked up a menu of his own, mostly just to have something to look at other than her, and he didn’t miss how she looked up with an eyebrow raised, as though picking up a menu in a restaurant was a peculiar and unexpected action. He didn’t respond, against his impulses, and bit his lip, trying to sell that he was indeed very interested in the restaurant’s selection of soups. He picked at the fraying edges of the laminated menu as anxiety settled in his gut. What was she waiting for? Was she expecting him to start? Because he wasn’t going to, no way. If this was some sort of silence contest, Keith was determined to win.

As it turned out, neither of them broke the silence. Instead, it was a waitress. An older woman with greying hair peeking through the kerchief tied on her head, she gave the two a gentle smile and picked up her pen and paper from a pink apron, quirking her head to the side. “And what’ll it be tonight?” She elongated the last syllable in a heavy southern drawl. She looked to Keith first, as Allura hadn’t looked away from her menu yet.

Before he could open his mouth, Allura spoke up. “Just a coffee and a cream cheese bagel for me, Lorelei. Keith’s fine.” She folded her menu and held it up to the waitress.

He looked at Allura now. “I-I… wait—” he turned back to Lorelei, who was grabbing their menus and walking away. She clearly knew something Keith didn’t, and turned away from him without another word. “What was that for?” he asked Allura, disappointment seeping into his tone.

She propped her elbows up on the table, resting her chin against her hands. “You piss where I eat, Keith, and you don’t eat.”

Keith grew indignant. “Oh, but you do? Does that mean you’re eating my piss?”

Allura heaved a heavy sigh, pulling away to sit back in her seat, arms folded. “Well you’re quite charming, aren’t you?”

“That’s what they tell me.” Keith deadpanned, mirroring her body language.

“Keith, what made you join gymnastics?”

Keith frowned, surprised by the sudden change in subject. “What?”

“You make no effort at all to train now. You clearly don’t want to be here, so how did you make it all the way to Worlds? What made you do that? Why did you join gymnastics?”

Keith looked down at his lap, scratching at the back of his neck. He really didn’t want to get into this with Allura, but he didn’t see a way out—she was his ride, after all. He sighed, biting the bullet. “Shiro’s parents put me in it when we were kids. They figured if Shiro liked it, I would too. It was easier than taking one kid to the gym and another to karate, I guess.”

Lorelei brought Allura her order at that moment. Allura ignored it and her, in favour of fixing her gaze on Keith. “Karate?”

“Or piano, or dance, or whatever. I don’t know; it’s just an example.” He wrung his hands, discomfort growing with every question she asked. He wasn’t good at sincerity. He didn’t want to talk about this, and he definitely didn’t want to talk to _Allura_ about this.

She started picking at her bagel as she continued her questioning. “Why would  _Shiro’s_ parents put you in gymnastics?” He’d hoped she would’ve let that particular phrasing go, but he could tell she was not letting up on the questioning any time soon.

Keith shifted in his chair. “They were my foster parents back then. I was a hyperactive kid, always causing trouble, so they put me there to channel my energy, or something.”

“And you stuck with it?”

He shrugged. “I moved to the pre-comp program, got adopted, and just… settled into that rhythm.” Deep down, he had always suspected the two events had been correlated, but he kept that to himself.

She nodded, seeming to understand. He heard her forearms slide forward on the table “And you went far.”

He looked up at her now, brows furrowed. He didn’t like where this was going. “You could say…” He cursed himself for being too open. He started to guard himself.

“All the way to Worlds.” Allura was prompting him. She wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore.

He pressed his mouth into a hard line. “I’m not telling you about Worlds.” This was ridiculous. Who the hell did she think she was? Asking him all these personal questions when she barely knew him.

She leaned back, sensing his tone. “You don’t need to, Keith. I don’t want to know about why you left at Worlds,” Keith was wary; he knew Allura wasn’t finished, “I just wanted to know why you never returned.”

“Ugh,” Keith groaned, throwing his head back to rest against the cheap vinyl booth.

“Keith,” Allura pressed on, “you were the country’s rising star, a once-in-a-generation talent. You could have been great.”

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t pimp that speech. I’ve heard it a thousand different ways from a thousand different people.”

“Oh?” If Allura held any sympathy for Keith, it had been well hidden, although Keith could swear her voice had grown gentler, softer. “And do tell me, how does it go?”

Keith looked back at her once again, feeling exhaustion settle deep in his core as he pulled up the memories of countless arguments, lectures, and disappointments. “Let’s see, there’s ‘you could have been great,’ ‘you used to be such a good kid,’ ‘you’re throwing your talent away,’ ‘do you know how many people would kill to have the chances you’ve had?,’ ‘you’re giving up your future,’ ‘you’ve changed and I don’t like the new you,’…” Keith trailed off, looking down at his hands when the silence between them grew uncomfortable. “It’s… whatever.” He picked at his nails on the counter. “It’s stupid. I wasn’t great. I was obedient.” He caught Allura shifting out the corner of his eye, possibly holding back some sort of comment on his last words. He ground his teeth at the very thought, but was thankful that she didn’t pursue it.

Allura was silent for a moment as she finished her food, but then she spoke up, unprompted. “Keith, I want to offer you a way out.”

Keith’s eyes shot up, fixing Allura with a look of surprise mixed with confusion and maybe, just barely, a bit of cautious gratitude. “A what?”

“The IG Classic is coming up in eight weeks.” Her brow was furrowed in earnest. “If you work hard and can put up some solid routines to compete, you could win some prize money to put towards your restitution. You might find yourself out of here sooner than you expect. What do you think?”

Keith kept his eyes on her, feeling as though if he blinked she, and his last hopes of getting the hell out of this dump, would disappear. He scanned her face for deception, waiting for her to add some sort of catch, but the offer remained, hanging in the air until Keith replied. “I think…” he cleared his throat, not liking how the surprise had made his tongue heavy and his mouth dry. “I think if you showed up at the Classic with me in tow, an angry mob would cut your brakes.”

“I have insurance.” She smiled, taking a last swig of her coffee, and putting a few bills and some small change next to her empty plate. She stood from the table and grabbed her coat off the back of her chair. Following her example, Keith stood, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and waiting for her to take the lead before he walked out towards her car. “The gym’s only about ten miles up the road. You hang a right after the gas station.”

Keith scrunched his face, opening the passenger’s door. “I know how to get back.”

“Great.” She grabbed his arm in one hand to pull it off the door and pushed it closed with the other, leaning against it with her arms folded. “Listen, here’s our deal: if you choose to compete at the Classic, I’ll let you _come_ back.” She pushed off the car, rounding it to the other side and getting in the driver’s seat. She turned the car over, looking back to Keith and continuing. “A hike should give you the chance to think things over.”

“Well what if I choose not to come back?” Keith shifted, feeling the cool air of the night seep slowly back into his bones, and hoping she was bluffing.

Allura sighed, shifting the car into reverse. “I’m going to be honest with you Keith: No one cares. No one cares what you decide.”

She started to pull away before Keith shouted “Wait!” He stepped forward, hands flying out to catch her eye. She stopped, fixing him with a curious look. “I… I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he finished lamely.

She smiled. “I’m quite aware.” She pulled away, the sound of the crunching gravel overwhelming the din of the neon lights behind them both.

He watched her go until she disappeared on the horizon. When she was gone, he groaned at the realisation that she actually expected him to hike back. He pulled out his phone to check the time. 11:43. Shit, they’d been out a long time. Had they really talked that much? It didn’t feel like it. Maybe Allura had really taken her time with that menu.

He wiped his tired eyes as he pocketed his phone once more. Allura had said it was ten miles back to the gym, right? He wondered how long walking those ten miles would take. Heaving a sigh, he started his way back. His mind was still reeling from what had just transpired. He had managed to evade the brunt of Allura’s questioning, had kept his secrets away from her prying eyes, and she had offered him a path out of here. Out of VGA. Out of gymnastics once and for all. He closed his eyes, a relief washing over him at the mere thought. So really, he thought he should feel like he’d come out on top of this.

_This is going to take forever_ , Keith decided. He picked up his dragging feet, starting a light jog down the side of the road.

But at the same time, this had complicated things. She had stirred up some thoughts he’d felt very content repressing for the past two years, and although she hadn’t seen them, they still clouded his head. Then, there was her offer. In order for him to get out of the gym, he had to get back in. He had two months to get his routines together and his shit in order. He winced. It was going to be utter hell. Two months of soreness, and falling on his ass, and frustration, and pain. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, he remembered it meant two months of struggling in front of all the other athletes at VGA, all the athletes who could wish for nothing more than to see Keith break his neck and die in a training accident.

It also meant two months of Lance’s incessant torment as he would run figurative (and probably literal) laps around Keith. If Keith was being honest with himself, he had neglected to keep up with much of the sport, and thus Lance, in his two-year retirement. But Keith had seen Lance work, albeit only in short moments, and Lance was good. Like, really good. Like, ‘ _is this even the same guy I trained with at Iverson’s?’_ good.

He picked up his pace once more, legs burning in a way that felt oddly nostalgic.

As far as Keith’s memory served him, Lance was never anything special at Iverson’s. He was an awkward gymnast, growing gangly and long instead of stocky and sturdy like the other boys, leading him to having a shaky sense of body awareness. In essence, what Keith had remembered about Lance’s gymnastics was that it was forgettable. It was nothing spectacular, and was certainly not a threat to Keith. If it weren’t for their constant fighting in training, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed when Lance had suddenly moved gyms some years before Keith’s unplanned retirement.

Something must have happened with Lance in those years after he left Iverson’s. While it was possible that Lance had gone to other gyms before VGA, something told Keith that wasn’t the case. Lance looked, for lack of a better word,  _comfortable_ at VGA. He had this cockiness and bravado that had made him an abrasive and annoying teammate at Iverson’s, but at VGA, it seemed to make him fit right in. He gelled with his teammates in a way Keith never had at his old club, and it made a small part of Keith jealous. Not so much that Lance had friends—all of whom hated Keith’s guts, no less—and Keith didn’t. He just envied that Lance  _could_ make friends. In Keith’s whole life, he could count on one hand the people he knew farther than their name. Hell, Keith usually didn’t even get that far with most people. When Keith had fought with Lance earlier that day, Hunk had been the first up to comfort him and check if he was okay. Later on when they had been sent outside, he’d caught Lance cracking jokes and trying to cheer his exhausted friends up when Allura wasn’t watching. When she had finally let them finish, he had piggybacked one of the girls—Keith thought he had heard Allura call her Pidge—back to the change rooms, though he was no doubt exhausted himself. 

His lungs started to burn, his heart pumping wildly as his feet pounded a steadier rhythm on the pavement. The diner was now long out of sight, but so was the gas station Keith was supposed to turn right at. This was ending up to be a long night. Keith had not signed up for this.

Keith wasn’t used to feeling any sort of jealousy. Competitiveness? Absolutely. You don’t get to be a world-class athlete without being competitive. But jealousy? Keith had never really had a rival or an equal in his entire gymnastics career. He was talented and focused beyond his years, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really could have been great.

And what killed him was that he really shouldn’t care about any of this. He shouldn’t care that Lance was a good gymnast and he sucked, or that Lance could make friends and he couldn’t. Since when did Keith want any of that? Keith set his jaw and his resolve. He didn’t. Nope. He was just doing this to get out of doing it. Gymnastics was stupid, and so was making friends.

And so was Lance. Fuck that guy anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise to anyone who’s been reading this and wondering “where is all that good good Lance McClain—the BEST boy ever—content??” Fret not, bc from the next chapter on in, the focus shifts increasingly away from Keith alone and more towards Keith and his teammates and, as a result, more towards his relationship with Lance. If it’s not been Klance-y enough for you in the first few chaps I’m telling you that it more than makes up for it later on. We also get to see a lot more of Hunk and Pidge, as well as more antics among the four of them :D  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)  
> ! I hope you’re enjoying so far!


	4. Tkatching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back to gymnastics is a lot harder—and more painful—than Keith had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the gymnast I chose to model Keith’s routines after is the current (as I’m writing the fic) Olympic AA champion (and best in the world for the past like eight years or smth lmao) Kohei Uchimura. Also, Lance’s routines are borrowed from Oleg Verniaiev (and I’ll be honest that’s mostly just because I have such a soft spot for Oleg haha), and I imagine his form would be a lot like Vitaly Scherbo. Like even if u don’t know gym just watch his  pommels . Dude’s got legs that go for MILES. I spent like an hour procrastinating one of the later chapters just watching Vitaly’s routines lmao like I want my life to be as good as his toe point.

“Keith! How nice of you to join us!” Allura exclaimed, far too bright for nine in the morning, as he dragged his sorry ass to the floor, taking his place at the end of the line of athletes that stood in front of her.

He had, by some miracle of nature, woken up to his phone alarm that morning and gotten sufficiently prepared to train. By some miracle of Allura, he had arrived back at the athlete’s residence late last night to find the duffel bag he’d left in her car on the front stoop, a single key resting atop it. When he had finally made it in the house, he’d crashed on the couch for a merciful six hours of rest, and had been left undisturbed by his roommates when they had woken up and left. Maybe they’d hoped Keith would sleep all day. Maybe they’d hoped he’d died in his sleep. In any case, Keith was thankful they didn’t wake him up. But all good things must come to an end, and as such Keith had gotten up, eaten some questionable-looking leftovers from the communal fridge, dressed to train, tied back his unruly hair, and shown up on time for Allura’s morning pre-training pep talk.

“Well team, competition is around the corner. It might seem far away, but two months passes by quickly. Boys, we’re going to start working on putting those routines together. I’m not expecting perfection yet, but I want to see you working hard and using your time wisely. Focus on technique and form, and we’ll work on the small details as we get closer. Girls, you have a bit more time before your competition, but I still want you all to keep on task. We’ll work big numbers to bring up your endurance and confidence. I want you to be able to perform these routines in your sleep.” Keith rubbed at his tired eyes. Currently, he felt as though he might be training in his sleep at some point today. “And Keith?”

He looked up to acknowledge her. “Hm?” He mumbled, still not entirely feeling awake enough to talk in full sentences.

“How was your hike last night?” She ignored the curious murmurs of the other athletes and kept her eyes fixed on Keith.

He rolled his neck, trying to stretch out the sleepiness that still settled in his muscles. “Fantastic, thank you.” He gave her a wry smile.

“Are you ready to meet your end of our deal?”

_Do I have a choice?_ “If you’re ready to meet yours.”

“Then let’s get started!” She clapped her hands once and they were off. Keith waited at the end of the line for the people in front of him to start their run. Lance led the group of athletes out the door, and Keith followed six or so behind him.

Once outside, their line broke up into a loose cluster, still headed by Lance. Keith hung at the back, legs still aching from last night, although he felt like he was finally starting to wake up. The morning air was helping to clear his head a bit, and the warmth of the sun made this run a lot more pleasant than the one he took last night.

“Hey,” a voice spoke, startling Keith for a moment until he found its owner: Pidge, a short girl with cropped brown hair that was pulled back with only a headband, running alongside him. “What was Allura talking about back there, about you taking a hike last night?” She glanced forward for a moment, probably checking to make sure she didn’t trip over anything in her run, then looked back at Keith curiously.

The question wasn’t hostile, so Keith responded. “I got locked out, so she picked me up, took me to some diner and then left me there to walk back to the gym.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “Ah, yeah sorry about locking you out. That was a bit too harsh of us, if you ask me.”

Keith shrugged, not even realising she was one of his roommates. “I’m over it.” He could see why they got mad, and while he was pissed off at them, what’s done is done. There was no sense dwelling over it.

“We would’ve let you in, by the way,” she added. “I mean, eventually I’m sure. But I guess you did get in at the end of the night, so it all turned out. Did you pick the lock like you said you would?”

He shook his head. “Allura gave me a key.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped. “No fair! It took me half a year to get my own key, and you get it in one night? Jeez, man.” She trailed off, and Keith thought that it might be the end of the conversation, but she picked back up about ten seconds into the silence. “Hey so, can I ask you a question?”

Keith bit his lip. “Sure.”

“How are you and Shiro even related?” She laughed. “The two of you are like total opposites in so many ways.”

Keith felt a wave of relief wash over him. After last night with Allura, he was glad he wasn’t going to have to answer another question about his gymnastics career. “We’re kind of not, I’m adopted.”

“Oh. But still, you guys grew up together, right? Shiro’s such a great guy, and you’re kind of an asshole.” She laughed again. “No offence!”

He smiled. Even if she was insulting him, he could tell at least some of it was in good fun. It was a nice change from being totally ignored by everyone, anyway. “No, I get it, I can admit to being a jerk at times. I don’t know, I guess Shiro took all the patience and kindness and charm and left me with antipathy.”

Pidge snorted. “My big brother did the same thing. Aren’t they the worst?”

“Pidge!” Lance shouted from the front of the line, turning around and jogging backwards to look at the two of them. “Quit fraternizing with the enemy!”

She gave him a disappointed frown. “Lance, do me a favor and spell ‘fraternizing’ for me,” she called out in retort.

Keith tried not to burst out into laughter as he watched Lance’s face contort in confusion. “It starts with an F, right? F-R—woah!” His impromptu spelling bee was cut short when his heel caught on a tree root that poked out of the trail, and he toppled over onto his ass. Now Keith had to slap a hand over his mouth to try and contain his bubbling laughter, and he saw a couple of the others do the same.

The rest of the group slowed to a halt as Lance got himself back up, dusting the dirt off his t-shirt and shorts. Hunk, who had been running alongside Lance at the front of the group, reached out a hand to help him brush off.

“Pidge, you could’ve got me killed!” He cried.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed, Lance,” she corrected. “No one asked you to run backwards.”

“Wha—you were making me spell!”

“A Herculean task for you, no doubt.” Pidge was snarky. Keith decided he liked her.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Whatever, let’s just get back to the gym.” With that, he took the lead once more.

Pidge turned to Keith just as they started back up. “We’re not all that bad, you know. If you want it, you have a place at Voltron.” She picked up her pace to make it back to the front of the group.

* * *

 

“Allura, I need to talk to you.” Keith approached her as soon as he’d gotten back from the run. His tired legs had separated him from the group in the second half of the warm-up, and by the time he had returned, they were already on the floor and well into their stretching.

Allura looked up from her clipboard. Keith was sure she was writing out routine compositions—the name “Shay” had been written at the top in big letters, followed by four distinct groups of garbled chicken scratch written across the page. “Is something the matter?”

Keith sighed. “Listen, I’m… are you serious about what you said last night? Because I’ve had just about enough with crazy adults for one lifetime, and—”

“I’ll train you for the Classic, and help you win the purse.” She looked on at the other athletes, stretching together and sharing quiet discussion. “No talking!” She called out, then returned her attention to their conversation. “Is that all?”

“One more thing,” Keith continued, “I am _not_ struggling in front of all of them.” He gestured out to the group of athletes.

She nodded. “I’ll let you use the old gym, just until you get some skills back. Then I want you training in here, as a part of this team.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And you’ll trust me to train out there? Alone?”

She shrugged. “I have insurance,” she echoed her words from last night. “Now get going, you’re in training!” She gently hit him on the back with her clipboard, pushing him towards the outside door.

* * *

 

Everything sucked, Keith decided. Training sucked. Conditioning sucked. Struggling to do basic skills sucked. But most of all, Keith sucked. God, did Keith suck.

He had never imagined that taking two years off would change so much. He had already started to break a sweat during stretching, so he decided to take his shirt off. Now, Keith had clearly had his shirt off many times since he had quit, but for some reason, it was different in a gym. He’d walked over to the mirror to hang it on the ballet barre, and that was when he managed to take a good, horrifying look at himself.

“God.” Keith grimaced at his shirtless reflection in the mirror. To the normal person, Keith looked in perfect shape. But for a former high-performance gymnast, he thought he looked positively sickly. His muscles held only a fraction of the definition and size they once did. He pinched at the skin of his hips. Was he getting _love handles_? He groaned, rolling back to lie on the floor. He still couldn’t believe he was really doing this. How did he even get here? How did his life go so awry that he found himself right back at the place he had promised he’d never go back to?

_Restitution_ , he told himself. He was doing this for the restitution money. That was his ticket to freedom.

He sighed. “Guess I’ll start with body tension.”

* * *

 

Ignoring the soreness that had settled in his abs and arms after body tension, Keith decided to start by getting back up on the high bar. He grabbed the pair of grips Allura had given him, lamenting how stiff they were. No one liked breaking in new grips, obviously, but Keith had been anxious to get back to training releases—just so he’d have the best chance at getting the purse and leaving, of course—which would practically be a suicide mission to attempt at this point. After he tightened the buckles of the leather grips, he took a good look at his hands, running his thumbs against them and trying to feel if they still had calluses. He really didn’t want to rip today. His hands felt as soft as a baby’s ass, and he knew that if he ripped, it would be huge. He also knew that he’d have to train regardless of how torn up his hands were, or the rest of him for that matter. Two months to pull together full routines did not leave Keith with much time for recovery. You push past aches and pains. If you got blood on the equipment, you clean it off and you keep going. If something gets injured, you tape it up and suck it up. That’s how the sport had always been for Keith. In gymnastics, it’s go big or go home, and right now Keith only had one of those options.

With that time crunch in mind, he jumped up and caught the bar. The grips started to ply under his hands, and he bounced the bar a couple times, getting a feel for the flex it had. It was a bit loose, probably due to its age, but Keith found it agreeable—if he needed to, he could just tighten up the wires. He started to swing, feeling the apparatus bend under his weight as he settled into a rhythm he had perfected after years of practice. After five or so swings back-and-forth, he kicked back into an uprise, settling close to a handstand on top of the bar. He felt the gentle pull of gravity as he swung a full giant circle around the bar, settling back into the handstand. He repeated the giants to complete a set of ten. He missed this, he slowly started admitting to himself. This was an old, familiar feeling. This felt like it maybe, at one point in his life, could have been home.

High bar had always been his favourite gymnastics event. It was the most spectacular of them all and the most breathtaking to watch, with its high-flying releases and the elegant pirouettes and circles that connected them. You couldn’t just power your way through high bar. You needed good air awareness, great rhythm, and a little elegance never hurt. Keith knew that he could come off as a ‘slash-and-hack your way through life’ kind of guy, but high bar was his chance to feel like he was more than that. Shiro had always told him back in the gym that patience yields focus, and Keith found that patience on the high bar.

After ten giants, Keith started getting a bit more creative. He dropped down to chalk up, then remounted and tried a couple giant-halfs, some blind changes, some stalder work before hopping back down. His palms were starting to burn, and Keith checked them for any blisters—none that were about to rip, so it was fine. He was starting to feel charged up, the burning in his arms motivating him to keep pushing harder rather than deter him. He got back up on the bar, swinging himself back into his giants, and resolving to do a release on that turn. It would have to be something simple, since he didn’t want to kill himself, but he needed to feel the total weightlessness that came with release moves. It was the closest thing to truly flying, unaided by wings or machine, and Keith missed flying so goddamn much.

He decided on doing just a Tkatchev. He could work up to Kovacs and variations later, there was no sense in rushing them. Keith swung down from his handstand, kicking up in the front swing as he let go of the bar and lifted over it, then bending forward in a straddle to reach for it on the back side.

The moment he realised he’d fucked up was when he couldn’t spot the bar in front of his fingers. By that point, he had found out where it had been the hard way, smashing his ankles into it, followed swiftly by his forearms. This reset his trajectory, sending him bouncing back off the bar instead of rotating forwards. Keith shut his eyes and pulled his hands over his face as he flipped backwards onto the crash mat set underneath. He crashed ever-gracelessly on his back, feeling the wind get knocked out of him as dust and chalk flew everywhere.

_Fuck. Ouch._

He groaned as he started to feel a dull throb reverberate in both of his heels. That was going to bruise like hell at the very least, if he didn’t manage to fracture anything. He curled up and groaned in pain, rolling onto his side as he rubbed close to the tender spots.

“Shit man, you okay?” He heard a voice call out, an undercurrent of laughter resounding in words that, when spoken, really shouldn’t hold that quality. Keith snapped his head up, propping himself up on his elbows to glare at the intruder, while not quite venturing to stand on his feet yet.

“Fuck off, Lance.”

“I’m serious dude,” he was now openly laughing, walking right up to stand over Keith. _Great_ , Keith thought. _Just great_. “That was a nasty wipe out. Maybe you’re going a bit too fast, it was too hard for you.” Keith knew Lance was giving him shit. A C skill, on Keith’s best event, too hard? 

“They’re new grips, okay?” Keith sneered. “I still have to get used to them.”

Lance stroked his chin and nodded. “Mm, sure. Maybe some day soon, you’ll actually get them on the bar so you can use that lame excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse!” Keith was seething. “What the hell are you even doing in here, anyway? Allura said no one came in this gym.”

“Chill, mullet, I just needed to grab a mat someone took from the main gym. All this was just an added bonus.” And by God, Lance had the audacity to fucking _wink_. Keith wished he could punch the smug grin off his stupid face, but that would necessitate his standing up, and he didn’t have the confidence in his ankles to do that yet. Lance turned on his heel, picking a sting mat off of the floor and draping it over his arm.

“By the way,” he said, looking over his shoulder, “you’re rushing to the straddle. You need to push your hips open for longer.” At that, he walked out. Keith dropped himself back onto the mat once the door shut, staring at the ceiling. He wondered if you could die from a combination of blunt force trauma to the ankles and the ego.

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a few personal fave lines in it tbh. Even though it’s an earlier chapter, I still think I did it pretty well. Also in case you’re unfamiliar with the Code of Points for gymnastics (which I’m assuming most of you are tbh because like there are sO many rules for gym lol), each skill--with the exception of vault--is given a value from A-H (and all the way to I for women’s gym!) with A value skills being the easiest, D value skills being like the base elite level skills, and H level skills being the hardest you can compete.  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!  
>  
> 
> [ Tkatchev ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bA8hRz7UqPk/)


	5. Yamashitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day is always the hardest fought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like story time: I haven’t said this outright in the chap notes yet but I used to be a competitive gymnast back when I was a young soul, before I went off to uni. I still keep fit as a gymnastics coach and like sometimes I’ll go back and I’ll try all my old skills and I’ll be like damn??? I still got it??? But then the day after I like… como se dice… can’t effin walk. I fuccd up my back reeeeal good in my competitive years and like my joints just aren’t up to the torture I used to subject them to, so like yeah.  
> I guess the point I was trying to make is that like I drew from a lot of my experiences as a gymnast to write this fic, and I really hope that that intimate understanding of being a high-performance gymnast shines through in the fic. As a great writer once wrote in her fanfic (*cough cough bananaghoul aka my best friend aka my fanfic idol cough cough*), you’ve gotta write what you know, and there’s nothing I know more than gymnastics.

Keith had woken up the next morning sore beyond belief. What’s worse, he’d slept through his alarm.

“Shit!” Keith jumped out of bed when he’d woken up to Shiro’s fifteenth call, if his screen was to be believed, at 9:17 A.M. He nearly crumbled to the floor immediately as the rush of adrenaline gave way to the ache in his muscles, along with the pain radiating from his heels due to his crash yesterday. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to stand and trudge to the bathroom to get ready.

After splashing some cold water on his groggy face, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, he passed through the kitchen and grabbed some cookies left out in a Tupperware container. He stuffed them in his gym bag, running as best as he could out the door. Keith knew it was probably wrong to keep stealing leftovers off his roommates, but he’d just been too tired to go grab his own food after training last night. He’d ask Shiro to grab him some stuff tonight, or maybe he’d just order in a pizza and have that for his four subsequent meals.

He  _had_ paid them back for their generosity, he reasoned, in his silence. He had stayed away from the trio he shared the house with—as it turned out, it was Lance and his two close friends, Hunk and Pidge—and spent his waking hours either soaking in an ice bath or watching Netflix in his room. Despite Pidge’s friendliness the day before, Keith still suspected his welcome in their abode was strained at best, particularly when Lance was present. Keith wasn’t ready to take on the three of them should a fight break out—he had been so incredibly sore—so he stayed the hell out of their way.

The pain in his muscles evened out as he settled in a limping jog, and he reached into his bag to pull out the cookies. Taking one out of the container, he put the rest away and took a bite. His face contorted with something that wasn’t quite disgust, but still wasn’t wholly pleasant. They tasted… healthy. Instead of the sweet taste of refined sugar, a more fruity taste settled against his tongue. He sighed, wondering how he had managed to pick up healthy alternative baked goods in a house manned by teenagers and an early twenty-something. He stuffed the rest of it in his mouth, remembering that there was no turning back for another meal, and pushed through the gym’s back door when he had made it. He was greeted by the sight of Allura standing at the doorway, arms folded and expression impassive.

“You’re late.” Allura stated, sounding neither mad nor sympathetic. She was informing him of a fact.

“I know.” He frowned. He wasn’t just slacking off anymore, he didn’t try to sleep in. He wanted out of here just as bad as she wanted him out, and probably more!

She pointed back at the door he had just come in through. “Start your warm up.” He dropped his bag and obliged.

* * *

 

It had taken him twice as long to complete his morning run today. He hobbled his way to the main gym forty minutes later, grabbing his bag off the floor and turning right around to leave without sparing a single glance around. He was way, way late. He limped over to his gym, crashing back onto a mat when he finally arrived. He had no idea if he’d manage to get back up, and frankly he didn’t care. This was so fucking hard.

He had learned back in his Junior Olympic level years, when they’d been given a three-week break at the start of the summer, how hard it was to come back from no training. He remembered how sore he always was the day after returning, and how Shiro would let him go easy on his workouts on the second day back, knowing from his own days as a competitive athlete how fatigued your body is the day after returning.

This was, without a doubt, the worst day after that Keith had ever experienced. Three weeks was nothing at all compared to two years, and muscles Keith didn’t even know he  _had_ seemed to be begging for the sweet release of death. If this was day two, he had no idea how the hell he was going to get through the next months to come.

“You holdin’ up there?” He heard Shiro’s voice float over from the entrance.

“No.”

Shiro laughed at that, walking over and sitting down by Keith’s head, looking over him with a benevolent smile. Keith gave him a tired look in return. “Allura told me about your plan, by the way.”

Keith scoffed. “And it doesn’t make you sad that your precious little brother is already planning his way out of this hellhole?”

Shiro shrugged. “What you choose to do is out of my hands now. Leave or stay, it’s up to you.”

“You think you’re subtle, but you’re not. I’m not staying, Shiro. First chance I get, I’m out. This is just the easiest way.”

Shiro laughed again. “Alright, but it sounds to me like you’ve been pretty eager to start back on your skills.”

Keith pouted. “Lance told you.”

“Lance told everyone; it’s what he does.”

Keith groaned, covering his face with his arm despite his protesting muscles. “Great. So much for my reputation.”

“If anything, Keith, it’s been _helping_ your reputation. Allura and I have been trying our hardest to convince the gym to not try and kill you when we have our backs turned. Looking a little bit more human and failing doesn’t hurt your cause.”

“I already told you, I’m not here to make friends. All this bonding bullshit and trying to make me more relatable to them is a waste of time for you.”

Shiro’s humour was unperturbed. “Maybe, but sometimes you have to make mistakes to learn from them, right? You of all people should know that.”

Keith pulled his arm down to glare at Shiro. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Keith, you can hardly walk,” he pointed out, matter-of-factly, “how are you going to tumble?”

Keith stopped to consider this for a moment. “Okay fine, I see your point,” he muttered.

“Remember what I always told you back at Iverson’s?”

“Patience yields focus.” Keith recited. He had remembered the words yesterday, but it was clear now that he had forgotten the spirit in which Shiro would say them.

“Exactly. You went too fast and you got hurt. It could have been worse than swelling and bruising, you know.” Keith wished he had the power to walk away from yet another brotherly lecture. It seemed like Shiro was making up for lost time in the few days Keith had already spent in Houston. “You could have broken something, or torn something, and then where would you be?”

“In a hospital and out of here,” Keith deadpanned, settling for rolling off the mat and dropping face down onto the floor.

Shiro sighed, shifting gears to try and work a new angle with Keith. “I can’t make you want to stay, but I want to do my best to make sure that if you do leave, it’s in one piece.” Keith heard the mats shift as Shiro stood. Before leaving, he added: “I’ll make sure we have a coach coming in to check on you every once in a while. But while we’re gone, try not to kill yourself, okay?”

“No promises,” Keith muttered into the carpet. Shiro chuckled, and then started to walk out. After Keith heard the door shut, he rolled his eyes, pulling himself up to his hands and knees, and crawled to the middle of the floor to start stretching.

* * *

 

His training session didn’t last very long. Shiro hadn’t even had the chance to check up on him again before Keith packed his things and locked up behind himself. He had somehow managed to touch every piece of equipment, although most of those touches had lasted for less than twenty minutes. Pommel horse in particular was a decisive no, given the state of his arms after his antics on high bar yesterday. He had managed barely two circles around before his elbow gave out on him, sending him flying over the side of the horse. All in all, he had been out of the gym a bit past noon.

His feet dragged with every step as he walked up to the front of the house. Still thankful for the key Allura had given him, he slipped it through the lock and basically fell through the door as it opened, tossing his bag next to the couch and collapsing onto it. He sank into its lumpy cushions, letting his eyes drift closed. He’d give himself a few minutes of rest, then he’d get up and take a shower.

* * *

 

Keith’s mind slowly ebbed back towards consciousness as he heard the gentle din of a television set fade into focus, along with a soft voice. “Do you think he’s dead?” Keith’s eyes drifted open as he heard those words spoken, and they snapped wide when he saw a face pressed far too close for comfort, watching him intently.

“Shit!” He yelped as he started, pushing back into the cushions as a hand flew to his chest. The person jumped back in surprise too, jarring the coffee table behind them before catching themselves on its edge.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Hunk cried, the shock that Keith felt mirrored in his expression for a moment, before an awkward smile found its way across his mouth. “But I guess you _are_ alive, after all.”

“Nice one, Hunk,” Pidge called from somewhere over the back of the couch. Keith twisted to look back towards her, when he suddenly realised how dark the room had become. It felt like he’d been asleep for only a few minutes, but it was clear from the lack of sunlight that it had been more like hours. He reached for his phone in his bag, and when he pulled it out he saw that it read 7:42. He grimaced. _Did I really sleep for that long?_

“When did you get in?” Hunk asked, pushing off and sitting on the coffee table across from him. Keith put his phone down and sat up, feeling a bit guilty that he’d taken up the entire couch for however long they’d been there. He rubbed at his tired eyes as Hunk continued. “We didn’t see you leave the gym.”

“’Bout noonish,” Keith mumbled, still recovering from his grogginess and the fright. “Sorry, I didn’t plan on falling asleep on the couch.” He felt awkward. If it was almost 8, then they had finished their training nearly six hours ago. Had they tiptoed around him the whole time?

Hunk waved his hand dismissively. “No sweat man, we just got in about an hour ago, anyway.” He stood up to sit across the couch from Keith, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up on the television. The water, which Keith hadn’t even realised had been running, made a jarring noise as it shut off.

“Ugh, _finally_ ,” Hunk grumbled. “I swear if he used up all the hot water again…” Just as soon as he sat, he stood up and rounded the back of the couch before disappearing up the stairs.

Keith rolled his eyes. No wonder things had been so peaceful, Lance wasn’t there. He looked over at the bathroom door, waiting for that peace to come to an end.

Lance, with his tendency to make everything dramatic, threw open the bathroom door with unnecessary force, a hand on his hip as he stood in nothing but a royal blue bathrobe. Steam swirled past his feet and the off-white glow of the bathroom light cast him in an almost heavenly aura.

“Good evening, ladies and gents.” He addressed the entire house in a silky voice, wearing a grin to match. Keith scoffed, moving to lie sideways against the arm of the couch, looking at the TV now. Some cooking program played, and he idly watched the host dice onions and throw them into a pot.

“Lance, what the hell do you even do in there for the whole hour? Did you get abducted by aliens or something?” Pidge griped.

Lance’s voice lost its smooth tenor almost immediately, returning to its usual squawk. “I already told you, Pidge, my skin care routine is very important! And don’t joke about those aliens…” he trailed off, stepping out of Keith’s peripheral vision and to the kitchen, joining Pidge in the space over his shoulder.

“Ooh what’s wrong Lance, finally ready to admit that aliens are real?” Pidge threw on a spooky voice, and Keith chuckled to himself. Anyone who tormented Lance like this was alright in his book.

Lance’s voice jumped another octave. “No, because aliens  _aren’t_ real, so stop trying to scare me Pidge, it’s not working!”

“Sounds to me like it is,” Keith chimed in, keeping his eyes on the TV. He heard Pidge gasp in delight.

“Oh, don’t _you_ start with this now,” Lance chided. “I liked you better when you were asleep.”

“Did you just admit that you like Keith?” He could hear Pidge trying to contain her grin, and he could tell it was hardly working.

“I—what—NO,” he floundered, “I hate him. He’s my enemy—He’s _our_ enemy, all of ours!”

Pidge came up next to Keith on the couch, putting a plate of food in front of her and plopping down. “I think he’s alright.” Keith’s heart lightened a touch at that. Maybe he could make a friend, after all.

“He’s a traitor!” Lance sputtered.

“Not to me, I wasn’t on that team. Neither were you.” Keith looked at her now, trying to gauge the sincerity of her words. She flashed him a smile.

Lance draped himself over the back of the couch, pouting as he levelled a glare at Keith. “Well… his hair looks stupid.”

“Agreed.”

“Wh—Pidge?” Keith whined. He thought she was on his side! He brought up a hand to run through his hair, finding that it stuck up awkwardly on the side he’d been sleeping on. Obviously the combination of humidity, sweat, and sleep hadn’t done wonders to his appearance. “Okay, fair enough.”

He heard the water turn back on, realising that Hunk had gotten into the bathroom at some point without him seeing. Lance pulled away from the couch just then, returning back to the kitchen. Pidge brought her own food up onto her lap, starting to pick apart at it. In the light of the TV, Keith saw that it was spaghetti.

“Sorry about him, by the way.” She spoke around a mouthful of pasta. “He’s not a total asshole, you know.”

“It’s okay, we…” he glanced over his shoulder, checking that Lance wasn’t listening. “We have history.”

“Oh?” She seemed intrigued, leaning in a touch. “I figured as much. Rivals?”

He laughed. “Not really. Well, maybe a little bit, but we never actually competed much against each other. Mostly, we just argued a lot at the gym. We didn’t get along.”

Her face lit up in comprehension. “Oh, that’s right! I remember Lance said he used to train at Iverson’s. He never really talked much about what it was like there.”

Keith bit his lip. “Not a whole lot of us want to.” He let her take from that what she would. Gymnastics coaches often liked to blur the line between ‘tough love’ and ‘abuse,’ and he knew that some coaches abandoned the line altogether.

“Well I can tell you now that Allura’s nothing like that. I’ve been going to VGA since before I can remember, and we’ve never had any problems with that sort of thing.” She gave him a crooked smile, and he returned one back. He felt a twinge of guilt at misleading her, but he figured it was more than he’d ever opened up about to anyone. That alone must’ve been a bit of progress.

“UGH!” Lance shouted from the kitchen, and they both turned to look at him. He was bent at the hip, ass stuck out as his upper body was obscured by the fridge door. He abruptly stood up and slammed it, making something inside tumble out of place, then pointed an accusatory finger at Keith. “You ate my leftovers!”

Keith’s mouth dropped open as he realised what Lance was saying. “O-oh right, uh yeah. That was me. Sorry.” He shrugged.

“Wh—‘ _sorry’_? That’s all you have to say?”

“Lance, they were like five weeks old. They probably did Keith more harm than good.” Pidge piped up from beside him. Keith’s stomachache last night suddenly made a bit more sense in context.

“My mom made me those! Now I have to wait until the next time she visits, and who knows when that’s going to be?”

“Just tell her to give Hunk the recipe and he’ll make it for you.”

A hand flew to Lance’s chest, his face paling at the thought. “I could never. My  _mamá_ ’s secret recipe, passed on from my  _abuela_ , and two generations before that? I’d be disowned even for suggesting it.” Keith stifled a snort.  _Was Lance always so dramatic?_ “Besides, he’d probably change the recipe to make it healthier. Could you imagine that, Pidge? My great-great-grandmother’s recipe, sullied by Hunk’s health kick. How dare you even consider it?”  _Okay, Lance is obviously putting it on_ , Keith thought.  _He had to be, at least partially_ .

“Fine, then have some of my spaghetti. There’s still some in the fridge.”

Lance sighed in defeat. “Does it have cheese on it?”

“Parma’s in the fridge too.”

He reached for the door. “Fine.” He gave a small start when something dropped out as he opened it, but he just shoved it back onto a shelf, rooting around for Pidge’s spaghetti.

They turned back around to sit again. “And you—” Pidge pointed an accusing finger at Keith “—need to stop stealing food from us.” She reached into his bag and pulled out the container of cookies, setting them down on the coffee table.

“Oh—uh… sorry about that too,” he replied meekly.

“It’s fine. Hunk’ll be glad someone’s eating them, anyways. It’s a new recipe and he’s still working out the issues.”

He smiled weakly. “I can tell.”

She snorted. “The grocery store’s closed by now, but there’s enough in the fridge to make a grilled cheese sandwich, if you’d like.”

He got up from the couch, taking her advice—he really hadn’t eaten all that much that day, and he  _had_ trained, even if it was just for a few hours. “Thanks, Pidge.” She waved her fork at him as he turned to the kitchen.

“That’s the last you’re getting, though!”

Keith sidled past Lance, who waited in front of the microwave for his spaghetti, and set to work making his grilled cheese. The three of them sunk into a peaceable silence, only the beeping of the microwave, the water rushing through the pipes, and the chatter of the television to fill the air. When Lance sat down at the kitchen table to start eating, Keith determined it the right time to traverse the kitchen and grab the necessary supplies from the fridge.

“Well, if you two don’t mind,” Pidge started, and Keith looked up to see her standing from the couch, making her way back into the kitchen with her empty dish, laptop tucked under her other arm. “I’m going to go upstairs for a bit.” Keith shrugged his approval, and Lance waved her off, slurping his spaghetti in lieu of a verbal farewell.

Keith set a pan on the stovetop, throwing his sandwich down and flicking it on. In the other room the TV continued to play, now on some local news channel that was talking about the weather.  _Why did they even bother to report the weather in Texas?_ Keith pondered idly.  _Today, it was hot as fuck and sunny. Tomorrow, it’ll be hot as fuck and sunny_ . 

“ _And now_ ,” the anchorman spoke, his voice tinny through the shitty speakers, “ _moving on to sports_.”

Keith didn’t miss how Lance’s ears perked up at that, nor how he slowly rose from his seat and made his way to the living room. Keith did not have a good feeling about that. He started to make his way back into the living room too, slowly following Lance as if not to make him aware. It didn’t work; Lance picked up his pace as he crossed the threshold, and Keith did the same to catch up to him.

“ _In the world of…_ ”

“Lance,” Keith warned.

“… _nastics, former Worlds team member…_ ”

“What?” Lance asked, feigning innocence, “I just want to hear the football score.” Suddenly, he lunged for the remote, and Keith did to him, grabbing his shoulders and tackling him to the floor, but it was too late. Lance had seized the remote, holding down the volume button until the whole house shook with the boom of the announcer’s voice.

“… _has come back unexpectedly after two years of retirement, registering for the upcoming International Gymnastics Magazine Classic, a qualifying meet for the National Championships._ ”

“Give… me the… remote!” Keith grunted as he reached for it, wrestling Lance with renewed fervour. Lance kicked him away with his legs, not even bothering to watch as he held the remote out towards the TV and kept his eyes on the images of the screen. Keith pulled at the collar of Lance’s bathrobe, hoping to be able to tug himself closer to the remote, but Lance just pushed him away.

“Shh… I’m watching.” Lance didn’t even have the decency to _pretend_ like he was putting up a fight. Keith couldn’t help but glance up at the TV too. Footage from his competition at Worlds two years prior lit up the dim piece, and he gave up the fight, sagging atop Lance’s chest and watching too.

“ _Few can forget Keith’s stunning walk out at the World Championships only two years ago. Just as the United States was getting set to mount the high bar, in the final rotation, Keith walked out of the stadium, thereby forfeiting the US’s chances at the gold medal_.” The video switched over to the footage of his teammates, all devastated, heads in their hands, hugging each other, crying. 

Keith felt the guilt settle deep into his bones once more. He’d always known what his actions at Worlds had done, but he’d never seen it until now. It wasn’t fair, he wasn’t trying to hurt any of them. That was never his intention. But here he was, the nation’s villain, and his poor teammates trying to hold back their tears as he ripped their dreams right from out of their hands.

“Hey Keith?” Lance said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. The story had ended, the newscaster talking about some hockey game. “Mind getting off me now?”

Keith realised his hands were still gripping at Lance’s bathrobe, their bare legs tangled as they lay splayed across the floor. “Shit—” he cursed as he scrambled off of Lance, standing up and brushing himself off, then abruptly turning on his heel to return to the stove.

Lance turned the TV off and followed him back into the kitchen to finish his food. Keith flipped his sandwich. The water shut off once more, setting the house into an almost eerie silence.

“So why’d you walk out?” Lance asked, not beating around the bush. Just straight up asking. It made Keith’s skin crawl.

“To spite you.” Keith lied. _Who the fuck does Lance think he is, asking that point blank?_

“Alright _fine_ , so why’d you come back?”

Keith didn’t have the energy to make up an actual lie. “I got arrested. My parents sent me here.”

“Shut up, be serious.”

Keith flipped his finished grilled cheese down onto the plate, switching it with the second one he’d prepared. “I am being serious. Ask Shiro if you don’t believe me.”

“No way,” his voice was airy, in disbelief and amusement. “What was it for? Arson? Drugs? Murder?”

“What? No, none of that shit.” Keith barked out a laugh at how ridiculous his suggestions sounded.

“So then what did you do?”

Keith sighed, wondering why everyone in Houston was so damn nosey. “Vandalism. I snuck onto some private property and… I may have broken some shit.”

Lance laughed. “Oh okay, so kid stuff.”

“What? _Kid_ stuff?” Keith was insulted.

“Dude, you’re a vandal. A hoodlum, a delinquent, a wayward soul, or however that goes. And here you had me thinking you were some hardened criminal.” Lance kept laughing as he got up and dropped his dishes in the sink. Keith heard the bathroom door open and shut in the other room, and he flipped his second grilled cheese over, turning off the stove.

“Oh, and I’m sure you know all about being a hardened criminal, what with how you were just about ready to kill me for eating your leftovers.”

“Hey, for my mom’s cooking, I would. Hand to God.”

Keith joined him in his laughter, and Hunk suddenly entered the kitchen, a towel wrapped around his waist and hair still damp. In his hand, he held the Tupperware of cookies. “Who ate this?” He hoisted it towards the two of them, voice expectant.

Keith flipped his second grilled cheese off the pan, grabbing the plate and sitting at the table. “Right here, big man.”

Hunk’s eyes lit up, and he took the seat kitty corner to Keith. “You did? How did it taste? Be honest with me.”

Over Hunk’s shoulder, Lance caught his eye, waving his arms emphatically. He made a big ‘X’ with his arms, then mimicked a slicing motion across his neck, shaking his head fervently all the while.  _What the hell is he saying?_ Don’t _be honest?_

“It was… um… good? Yeah, really good.” Lance slapped a hand against his face. _Wait, was that the wrong answer?_

But the words made Hunk look like a kid on Christmas morning. “Really? Y’know, I thought the zucchini was a bit too adventurous, but hey, maybe not? What did you think about the nutmeg taste? Did it come through? Was it too strong?” Lance waved goodbye over Hunk’s shoulder, leaving him alone to have Hunk talk his ear off about the cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because what kind of klance fic writer would I be if I didn’t include the obligatory fight that leaves the two of them awkwardly entangled??? Also look mama they’re starting to be friendlyy aren’t u proud?  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)! Next chap goes through a fairly substantial timeskip tbh, but like… if u know gym u know the days kinda bleed together when ur training for comp so like I don’t think it’s really necessary to keep talking through the same routines and skills over and over again.


	6. The Pit Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s got the skills to join the team’s training, but is he ready for the challenges of training in the main gym?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, any of y’all ever been stuck in a foam pit? Shit’s impossible to get out of. We used to have to do sprints through the foam pit. It was like... the toughest shit. Anyways ur not here to listen to me ramble ur here to read the fic lmao so without further ado...

People started checking in on Keith’s training over the following six weeks, as Shiro had promised. Allura was a common visitor. Sometimes she would yell out a correction or two, but most of the time she stayed silent, watching a few of Keith’s turns and then wordlessly walking out. At times, Shiro himself would pop in, and a few days even Coran did. But of everyone, the most common visitor Keith would get was Lance. He’d always have an excuse at the ready (there was “we’re out of chalk” or “someone stole the good beat board,” or something more inane, like “I dropped my lucky elastic in here the last time,” or the honest “I’m hiding from Allura, I don’t want to repeat pommels”), and today was no different.

“I’m waiting for Hunk to finish training.” He lounged sideways on a landing mat set next to the floor, head propped up on one elbow. “Entertain me.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Lance was the only one who’d come in here seemingly just to make himself a nuisance. Allura rarely said a word, and Coran and Shiro would most often just offer an encouraging “you’re so close! Next turn you’ll get it, guaranteed!” But Lance would just not ever shut up. Keith had tried everything, telling him to get lost, ignoring him, throwing a spray bottle at him, but nothing seemed to deter him. And although their relationship had become less strained, and dare Keith say  _friendly_ , outside the gym, in the gym Lance was still a huge pain in the ass.

“Entertain your own damn self. Go back home or something.”

Lance gasped, putting a hand against his chest for dramatic flair. “I could never abandon my best friend at the gym. All alone, working his ass off, with no one to talk to. Could you imagine?”

“Sounds like the dream to me,” Keith muttered, lining up in the corner of the floor to try a three-and-a-half. He had been doing them well enough in the pit, and he felt more confident in his timing, so he wanted to test it out on the floor. What he didn’t want, however, was for Lance to be here, watching his first attempt. He didn’t want Lance there in general, but the first skill you throw is like the first batch of pancakes you make, it’s always a shitty throwaway. That knowledge didn’t stop Lance from berating him incessantly about it, unfortunately.

“Yeah well not everyone can be an emo like you, okay? Some people actually like having company.”

Keith tuned him out.  _Block, set, twist, open_ , he mentally called out to visualise the skill,  _ignore Lance, block, set, twist, open._ He took a deep breath, staring down to the opposite corner of the floor. Then, he took off. Round off, back handspring, block, set, twist, open. He landed on his toes with far too much rotation, taking a stumbling step forward to try and recover before ultimately crashing face-down on the sting mat he’d set out for himself. 

“You’re not blocking,” he heard Lance call from the other side of the floor.

“I _am_ ,” Keith called back, irritation seeping into his tone. He slammed his hands down in frustration, pushing himself onto his feet and marching back to his starting corner.

“Well then you’re not blocking enough.” Lance drew absent patterns on the dusty mat with his finger. “You’re snapping down too close on your back handspring and it’s making you over rotate.”

“Can you just let me train? You’re not my coach, okay, so you can just fuck right off.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Keith, have you ever seen someone blow a knee?”

Keith crossed his arms. “No.”

“Okay, and do you want to keep it that way or should I have an ambulance on standby?” He deadpanned.

“Call them up.” Keith matched his tone.

Lance sighed, rolling onto his back and looking at the ceiling. “You’re pushing it too hard.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re getting frustrated, and you’re making stupid mistakes. You need to get control over your skills.”

“I _have_ control over my skills,” he seethed. 

Lance turned to look at him, snapping. “No Keith, you  _had_ control over your skills. Before you quit. Now, your body’s changed, and they’re not going to be the same. It isn’t just going to come to you now, you have to work your ass off just like everybody else.” He sensed a shade of resentment in those words, and it stunned him. Lance continued, “Iverson’s not here to groom you into his Olympian anymore. You’re not his star now, you just suck like the rest of us.”

Keith clenched his fists, barely containing his anger. Man, did Lance know how to hit a nerve. “You don’t know a damn thing about Iverson, Lance.”

“Yeah, because he was so focused on you that he forgot he had other athletes. Why did you think I left?”

“I figured you quit ‘cause you realized you weren’t cut out for it,” Keith fibbed, trying to one him up.

“Lance!” They both turned towards the front to see Allura standing in the doorway, hands on her hips as she stared her aforementioned athlete down.

“Oh crap,” Lance cursed, shooting up to walk over and undoubtedly get scolded by Allura.

“Why aren’t you training?”

“Coran said I could take a break after rings!” Lance whined.

“Coran would have said no such thing, now go back and get to work!” She pointed a finger at the door.

As he passed her, however, Keith saw him stop. He muttered a few words to her, looking back at Keith. She looked at him too then, eyes wide, before turning back to Lance. He nodded, and left without another word. A smile graced her lips, which soon stretched into a grin when she started to walk over to Keith.

“Keith,” she said, “it’s time for you to start training with the team.”

* * *

 

Keith would like to think that in a few short weeks, he had made a great deal of progress. He was definitely on his way to getting back a lot of his more fundamental high-difficulty skills. Training with the team, though? In the main gym? He wasn’t entirely confident that he’d be able to make that step without stumbling, and maybe falling on his face. Probably multiple times.

He stood outside the back door to the main facility, baking in the late morning sun as he stared it down. As usual, all the other gymnasts had gone into the gym after their warm-up to stretch. Keith no longer lagged behind the same way he had in the in the first week of training, but on that day he had hung back an extra minute or so, working up the nerve to step onto that floor and stretch with the rest of them. He took a deep breath, remembering his conversation with himself the night Allura had taken him to the diner.  _Fuck what everyone else thinks about you. You’re not here to make friends; you’re here to win the prize money_ . With that, he took a deep breath in, and pushed the gym door open. 

He was seized by an immediate regret when he saw everyone freeze, looking at him as though he had two heads. Setting his jaw, he walked wordlessly toward the floor, acutely aware of the fact that everyone was still watching him. It was less than ten pairs of eyes, but it felt like Keith was once again walking right on the world stage.

“Keith!” Pidge waved him over, and he felt a wave of relief as he saw her smile, suddenly feeling not so alone under the spotlight. “There’s some room over here for you to stretch.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” He was glad that her friendliness seemed to extend past the confines of their shared home, and that she was ready to talk to him even in front of the judgemental eyes of the rest of the athletes.

“So,” he heard Lance start from his place next to Pidge, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “The great Keith Kogane finally graces us with his presence. To what do we owe the honor?” He stretched his middle splits, and Keith found himself in silent awe of Lance’s flexibility and gorgeous extension. _Great, we’re not even on our first event and he’s already beating me_ , Keith lamented.

“You tell me. You said something to Allura yesterday, and she came up and told me I was ready to join.”

“Oh Lance, was _that_ where you went after rings?” Hunk spoke up suddenly from Keith’s other side, and Keith turned to face him. “Coran was freaking out because he thought you got lost in the pit again.”

Keith looked back at Lance, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Lost in the pit?  _Again_ ?”

Lance sighed, switching to his side split. “Okay first of all, yes, that was where I went yesterday, to hide from Allura. Secondly, thank you Hunk for bringing up one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. Third, I didn’t get lost in the pit, I went in there on purpose. And fourth, it’s been a year, can we please let this go?”

“I still need far more details.” Keith leaned down in his pike, grabbing his ankles to pull his chest closer to his legs.

“Ooh, ooh, let me tell the story!” Hunk practically bounced with excitement.

“Hunk no! You can’t tell _him_ the pit story!” Lance gestured wildly at Keith.

Hunk gave an exaggerated frown, putting his hands together as a plea. “Aw come on Lance, it’s the best story! And you know only I can do it true justice.”

“Hunk!” Allura shouted from the other end of the floor. “No talking!”

They all waited a total of maybe ten seconds before Lance spoke up, a bit more discreet this time. “Okay fine, but you owe me one.”

“Dude, you currently owe me about seven billion, so all this means is now you owe me six billion nine hundred and ninety—”

“Hunk!” Allura repeated, exasperation seeping into her tone.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He stretched his straddle, leaning over his leg to disguise his whispering to Keith. “Okay so about a year back, we convinced Allura to let us play hide-and seek-in the gym for team bonding or whatever. It was the coolest thing ever—”

“Totally my idea, by the way,” Lance interjected.

Pidge scoffed. “It was my idea to play hide-and-seek, genius.”

“I said we should play some sort of game! I’m an originator, really.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hunk continued, we brought all the mats and boxes out, and we made a bunch of hiding spaces, all spread out in the gym. But my friend Lance over here had other plans—”

“Brilliant plans,” Lance interrupted yet again.

“Lance and Hunk!” Allura shouted once more. “Why is it that every time I hear someone talking it ends up being one of you two?”

“Allura, you should know by now that I can’t go five minutes without talking. It’s just impossible and I’ll probably hurt myself if I try.” Pidge snickered at Lance’s response. “And besides, didn’t you tell us to make Keith feel welcome? All we’re doing is trying to make him feel at home.”

“There is a time for that, and that time is not in training. Keep stretching, we have to start conditioning soon!”

Lance rolled his eyes, and continued the story. “So I had the idea of hiding in the pit. Genius, right? The pit’s huge and it goes so far down, and no one’s going to spend the whole time looking through it just to find one person. So the counter starts and I wait until everyone else is hidden, so no one can give away my super awesome hiding spot, yeah?—”

“Lance I thought I was telling the story.” Hunk pouted.

“Fine, fine, you can tell the story!” Lance gave up his stage and started stretching his bridge out. Keith laughed, wondering if these two had always been so close, or if there was a time when they had been awkward acquaintances. For some reason, he couldn’t picture it. They played off each other so well.

“Alright, so my boy Lance just plunges right in. You’d think he was a dolphin with the grace he had in that foam pit.”

“I thought he said no one saw him,” Pidge said, stretching lunges. “How would you know this?”

“Well I don’t know it, but Lance told me and I believe him in everything.”

“You’re the best, buddy.” Lance took a hand off the floor to shoot Hunk a finger gun, still upside down in his bridge.

“So he’s in the pit, but he decides ‘this isn’t enough. I need to be even more hidden.’ Man’s fatal mistake is always hubris. He starts swimming down until he was at what we can assume was about halfway to the bottom.”

“Not true. Can’t be halfway to the bottom if there is none.”

“Lance we’ve discussed this. Enough with your conspiracy theories.” Pidge sat in her splits, reaching for her front foot with her opposite arm and laying her stomach on her leg to stretch.

“This coming from you, the guy who thinks aliens exist and are going to attack us.”

“They do exist.” Keith had no idea what had possessed him to jump in at that point, of all the instances he could have, but Pidge’s face lit up as soon as she heard it, rolling out of her stretch.

“Keith, my man! I knew there was a reason I liked you!” Keith laughed, scratching at the back of his neck bashfully. Maybe training in the main gym wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I project a lot of the kind of athlete I was on Lance tbh. I was notorious for always getting yelled at for talking and singing and dancing at the gym (actually I still am but now it’s for when I’m coaching lmao) and like I literally tried to go just one training without talking and ten minutes into the silence I was like “I cAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE I’M GONNA BURST” and tbh I feel like Lance would be the same way.  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


	7. Death Circuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith discovers that the Death Circuit is aptly named.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter’s like… all klance. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!  
> P.S. The Death Circuit is also another real-life experience I drew from. In my day it wasn't a real Death Circuit unless at least one person had cried by the end of it!

Keith was so wrong. Training under Allura was pain like nothing he’d ever felt before. She started the day off with two full hours of conditioning. The regimen was affectionately named ‘the Death Circuit’ by the athletes and coaches alike.

“Alright, I’ve written out the pairings for today!” Allura announced. She had explained to Keith earlier that the Death Circuit was always to be completed with a partner, to spread everyone out on the equipment and to hold each other when needed. She now stood with Shiro and Coran in front of all her athletes, clipboard again in hand. “Pidge, you’re going to be with Riley, Shay, with Aly, Sam is going to be with Hunk, and Keith, you’re going to be with Lance.” Keith groaned, somehow expecting that this was going to happen. It was just his luck.

“What? Allura, no fair! Why do I get stuck with Keith?” Lance complained, and Keith probably would have taken offence to that had he not been in total agreement. Keith came to recognise that Lance’s friends seemed to act like a barrier to Lance’s assholery. He could stomach Lance when Pidge and Hunk were around, but Lance by himself? The innumerable fights they’d had in the old gym were evidence enough that they did not mesh together during training hours.

“Lance, you were the one who said you wanted to make Keith feel welcome,” Shiro reasoned.

“Yeah but that was just an excuse to talk!” Keith scoffed at Lance’s eagerness to divulge his ruse. “Why can’t I be Hunk’s partner, like always?”

“Not advisable, Lance!” Coran chimed in. “The last time you tried to hold him for bungee runs, he nearly launched you across the facility!” Keith suppressed a snort at that, earning a stern eye from Shiro. It was easy to picture skinny Lance being slingshotted into the air while trying to hold back Hunk’s massive size as he sprinted full speed.

“Okay team, let’s get started!” Allura announced, cutting off any further argument and sending them to their conditioning.

* * *

 

“Hey so,” Keith spoke up, jogging with Lance over to rope climbs, “are you going to finish that story?”

“That depends: are you going to hold it over me?”

Keith smirked. “Oh, without a doubt.”

Lance sighed in defeat. “I guess you know too much already. I’ll finish the story, but then I’ll have to kill you.”

“Not if Allura’s conditioning kills me first.” Lance laughed at that, and Keith smiled. Lance’s laugh was cute. Lance himself might have been insufferable, but at least his laugh made him a bit more bearable. Shit, the conditioning must have really been taking its toll if he could think anything about Lance McClain was _cute_.

“Too true.” Whatever Lance was going to say next was cut short by Coran calling out “And start!”, setting his timer off for the athletes to spend one minute on their station. Lance had explained, on their walk to the first station, that each of them lasted a minute and had different sized sets that the pair alternated between. After each minute, they would have thirty seconds to move between exercises, which wasn’t much when you considered the distance they had to traverse.

Keith went first up the rope, keeping his legs in pike as he climbed using only his hands. After three other upper-body stations, Keith’s arms were burning. Conditioning with Lance was proving to be even more hellish than the exercises alone. Lance always had to try and finish his sets faster, forcing Keith—who was not about to be outdone no matter how out of shape he still was—to do the same. By the end of chin-ups, he’d felt about ready to collapse, forgetting to pace himself as Shiro had forewarned him to.

“ _Keith, this isn’t a contest, remember? Listen to your body, and don’t work yourself too hard.”_ Shiro had said at the start. He should have known that that would’ve been impossible with Lance as his partner. That was just poor planning on Allura’s part.

“Ten seconds!” Coran called out when Keith reached the bottom, passing the rope to Lance, who started to climb at a superhuman rate. Damn, had it really taken him so long? Lance looked like he was going at double Keith’s speed, and Keith groaned, knowing Lance would be far more rested waiting for him than he would be waiting for Lance. He shook his arms out, reaching for the rope as soon as Lance’s feet touched the mat.

“Take your time, I’m enjoying the break!” Lance called out, and Keith momentarily contemplated taking a hand off the rope just to flip him the bird, before he realised that would only slow him down more. He settled for gritting his teeth and pushing himself harder than he had last turn. “Nice tennis grunts,” Lance taunted as they exchanged again.

Keith would have come back with a reply, he really would have, but he was too preoccupied in trying to catch his breath.

“Time!” Coran shouted after a few more exchanges of the rope, and the pair jogged over to their next station: leg lifts.

“So I started swimming down,” Lance started, catching Keith off-guard as he continued the pit story, “and I don’t know if you know, but the farther down you go, the more packed down the foam is. So like, I started digging in and burying myself in the foam.” He flashed a smile. “Dude, it was so gross. You want to know where all the sweat and dust goes in the gym? Straight into the foam pit. It smells like feet and regret. But I thought it was worth it. I’d show everyone at the gym that I was the king of hide-and-seek. Which, by the way, I totally am, since Allura banned hide-and-seek after that. Reign forever, baby.”

“Start!” Coran called out, and the two of them raced to the bars, realising they’d been running too slow and were lagging behind. Keith got there first, climbing up the wall bars and starting his leg lifts.

Lance used his rest time to continue his story. “It took, like, I don’t even know how long, but eventually, Coran found everyone. It was awesome. The stink was so totally worth it.”

“Switch,” Keith said, jumping down to let Lance take the bar. Lance wasn’t talking anymore, the only sound coming from him was his laboured breath as he pulled his legs up to touch the top bar under the sheer force of his abs alone.

Keith watched as his muscles flexed, rippling under the force they exerted. Damn, he looked good. In a damn-this-guy-for-being-better-than-me way, of course, not just in a Keith-thinks-Lance-looks-damn-fine way. Because he didn’t. Keith started adjusting the hairpins on his bangs as an excuse to awkwardly avert his eyes, feeling an uncomfortable flutter settle in his stomach. He chalked it up to jealousy. He heard Lance’s feet drop onto the ground, and climbed back up to start his second set.

“I didn’t just win, I smoked the competition,” Lance continued, obviously not noticing that Keith had been unsubtly checking him out mere moments ago. Keith grew acutely aware of Lance watching him, and he wondered if he looked as exhausted as he felt. He hoped not. Lance appeared to glow with the warmth and sweat that emanated from him, but Keith felt like he probably looked something closer to a fish out of water and gasping for breath. “No one found me for hours.”

“Hours?” Keith managed between strangled breaths.

“Yeah—” he stopped when Keith dropped down, taking his place on the bar once more.

“Switch!” Coran shouted in the middle of Lance’s set, and the two of them set off for the next station.

“Yeah, hours,” he picked back up as they quickened their pace a bit towards bungee runs. “Mama didn’t raise no quitter in me, Kogane. But after a while I decided I wasn’t going to be found, so I tried to get out.”

“Emphasis on the tried?”

Lance nodded. “I was stuck. The pit was so packed down, I couldn’t move my legs at all. Can you imagine, Keith? My beautiful legs, rendered useless!” Keith stifled a snort.

“So what did you do?” Keith grabbed the resistance band and looped the ends twice around each hand, pulling the slack over Lance’s head. Lance grabbed it, setting it across his waist and waiting for Coran to start the timer.

“Start!” The conversation was paused once more, as Lance took off full tilt down the vault runway. Keith gripped the band harder, leaning back and resisting as much as he could, but Lance still pulled him forward, his legs pumping hard and fast against the carpet. When Lance reached the end of the runway, they both let up, Keith dropping the resistance band for Lance to grab and jogging back.

“I figured it was like quicksand,” he continued between huffs of laboured breath, “you circle your legs, and eventually you’ll rise to the top. I tried it, and it only dug me further down.”

They reached the start of the runway once more, Keith pulling the band around his waist and taking off as soon as they were ready. It felt like trying to run through water. Lance pulled with all his might and Keith pitched his body as far forward as he could, willing his quads not to give up on him just yet. He tried to keep his feet moving quickly, but Lance was not letting up. He reached the end of the runway at about twice Lance’s time, and spun around to glare at him once Lance let up, legs positively trembling under the effort it took to stand.

“You,” he huffed, far too out of breath to sound threatening, “are pulling way too hard.”

Lance handed him the band, leading the jog back. “Or maybe you just need to run faster.”

“I can’t,” Keith admitted, finally giving in to his exhaustion and dropping to lie face down on the floor. His breaths still came in gasps, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. “I’m done. I’m dead. Please, just put me out of my misery.”

Lance laughed. “Wow, did I break you? That happened sooner than I thought.”

“Keith!” He heard Allura call from the other side of the gym. Mostly reprimanding, but tinged with a slight concern.

“It’s alright, Allura, just give us a minute!” Lance shouted back.

Keith’s heartbeat pounded in his skull as he prayed that the Death Circuit would live up to its damn name and just kill him already. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance lie on his stomach perpendicular to him, chin resting on his hands as he regarded Keith with an amused smirk. Keith turned his head to face him, cheek smushing against the carpet.

“What?” Keith pouted as Lance’s smile grew.

“First lesson in avoiding burnout: learn to pace yourself from the start.” He extended two fingers, holding them out to Keith. “Lesson two: learn when you need to slow down.”

“ _You_ kept pushing me too hard! What was I supposed to do?”

“Keith, that was my point! You got too caught up in the competition between us that you forgot to pay attention to what you were supposed to do. You think at the Classic that people aren’t going to be out for your blood? If you want to compete, you’ve got to stop being so competitive.” He chuckled at the irony of his own words. Keith chewed on this for a moment, and Lance spoke up again. “No one wants you out of here more than me, Keith. I know you want to win that purse.”

Keith snorted. Lance’s words really should have sounded rude, but his tone didn’t match them in the slightest. “So, what, are you _helping_ me now?”

Lance grinned. “I’ve always been helping you, buddy. All you needed was a little motivation.”

“Time!” Coran called out, pulling the two out of their quick moment.

“Ready to keep going?” Lance asked him, moving to his knees and holding out a hand help Keith up.

“Do I have a choice?” Keith grabbed Lance’s wrist, letting Lance’s hand grab his own to pull him to his feet.

“Not if you want to hear the rest of the pit story.” Lance grinned, letting go of Keith once they stood and leading the jog to the next station.

* * *

 

Vault, Keith had always known, was the worst event in gymnastics. Unlike high bar, which required delicacy and accuracy, vault involved charging headlong into a stationary object, flying off as high as you can, and praying you didn’t break a leg on the landing. This was particularly true for the kinds of vaults Voltron seemed to favour. Keith sat on a box next to the vaulting runway as Lance stood on it, lining himself up to go. He gave Hunk, who was on the other end of the runway and fixing the beat board after his own turn, a nod before charging down the runway. Shiro had put up a block that stood the height of the horse over the landing mat, and Lance had still managed to clear the landing for a front-front, even over-rotating it.

“So Hunk,” Keith started when Hunk came back, standing up as the other sat down, so he could get ready for his own turn. “What vaults do you train?”

“Oh, well, Allura’s got me training Dragulescus right now. With my power, they’re a bit tough on the timing, but she thinks if I can show them by Nationals, even if I don’t compete them, it’ll be really impressive to the college scouts.”

“College?” Keith asked, looking down the runway to try and gauge his distance. He might have gotten a bit slower after Death Circuit, maybe he should move up just a tad?

“Yeah, I moved to Texas from Hawaii when I was young, because my parents really wanted me to get a good college scholarship. My local gym said I had talent and I could go far, so they shipped me off to Houston so I could train at VGA.” Keith gave a curt nod of understanding. He’d been lucky enough to have an elite gym in his hometown, but that was because Texas was a pretty gymnastics-heavy state, certainly a lot more than Hawaii would be.

Lance looked up from his position on the other end of the vault, silently asking if everything was straight. The mats had been reoriented for Keith’s entry style on the vault. In contrast to Lance’s and Hunk’s, wherein you jumped straight from the board and pushed off over handstand to flip, Keith’s was a bit more complicated, executing a roundoff onto the board, then reaching backwards onto the horse to flip. Keith nodded his approval at the set-up, and Lance stepped aside.

“Just a Yurchenko timer, Keith.” Shiro called out from the other end.

Taking a deep breath, Keith started down the runway. At the end of his run, he hurdled, placing his hands down on the hand mat and pushing off, his feet hitting the board with the vault directly behind him. He threw his arms back and reached over, catching the horse on bent arms. He pushed to repulse off the horse, dropping his shoulders and tucking his knees around to flip a full revolution and a half off his hands. He had plenty air time to spare, and opened up cleanly to his back on the squishy mat.

“Not bad.” Shiro walked over to Keith as he stood up, grabbing the horse as he rounded to the other side to clear off his extra mats. “Your pre-flight was low, though. You felt it, your arms were soft.” Keith nodded his comprehension. “Next time let’s go layout, okay?”

“’kay.” His breathing was a bit more laboured after his turn, and he straightened out Hunk’s board, looking up for his approval. Once he got it, he started back down the side of the runway.

“Yurchenkos?” Lance asked once Keith had plopped down next to him on the box, Hunk having already taken off for his turn.

“Yurchenko-halfs, usually. I’m just warming up.” Keith answered, slowly managing to catch his breath. “Does Allura coach anything other than Drags?”

“That’s just Hunk and me. No one else here does them.” They watched Hunk vault, executing a handspring with two tucked front flips, taking a few steps forward out of the landing before he gave up hope of staying on his feet and rolled out.

“How’s he learning Drags if he’s just now planning on going to college? How old is he?” Keith wondered if Hunk had deferred for a few years. Dragulescus were difficult vaults, and he had a hard time understanding how Hunk could be young enough to be preparing for college if he had that kind of strength.

“He’s just eighteen.”

Keith wiped the sweat from his brow. “Shit, man.” Hunk was a big guy for eighteen.

“Yep!” Lance shot up to his feet, getting ready for his turn. Keith hated how fast the turns were on vault, especially with only three of them there. “He’s grown up big and strong right before my very eyes. I’m a proud mama, can you tell?” Lance grinned. “I can see his future already. He’s going to go to college full-ride on an NCAA scholarship, get an engineering degree, and score six perfect tens a night at every competition!”

“Oh? And what about after college?” Keith leaned back on his elbows, a smirk playing across his lips.

Lance put a finger on his chin, pondering it for a moment. “Then he’ll go to the Olympics, win every gold medal, retire, become some sort of space engineer like he wants to, become a chef, fly to the moon, and open the first restaurant on the planet.”

Keith snorted. “The moon’s not a planet.”

“What do you mean? It’s a huge rock in space, that’s what planets are!” He shook his head. “Jeez, Keith, sometimes you can be really dumb.” He started down the runway.

Keith smiled, watching him go. Lance spoke so highly of Hunk and Pidge. It was endearing, really. He seemed like the kind of guy who took pride in all the people he loves, and bragged about them at every chance he gets. Keith remembered how, a few nights back, they’d all sat together on the couch as Lance scrolled through an album full of family photos on his phone. Lance had about a dozen siblings, and he somehow managed to remember each of their names and personalities, despite being a whole state apart from them. He’d passed his phone between his three roommates, weaving an intricate story around each and every picture as his eyes twinkled with pride. He seemed to be doing the same with Hunk now, and although he was always joking and crude to his face, he was so appraising and caring behind his back.

It made Keith wonder if Lance would ever do the same to him. Maybe he already had. Yesterday, when Allura had come in to scold Lance for playing hookie, he’d said something to convince her that Keith was ready for the main gym. All it had taken was a few words from Lance for Keith to gain Allura’s confidence. What had he said? What _could_ he have said? It wasn’t like Keith had been showing him much stellar work in the old gym.

Keith hated to admit it, but he’d always found himself messing up a lot more frequently whenever Lance visited. It must’ve been out of jealousy. That had to be it. Because whenever Lance came to watch him train, he found it impossible to focus on gymnastics. All he could think about was Lance. Lance and his stupid cocky grin that he always wore in training, even when he was exhausted. Lance and his insanely beautiful body lines—seriously, was that Allura’s work? Keith had never seen a male gymnast whose legs extended that beautifully or who could hold their body the way Lance did. She must’ve worked hardcore ballet with Lance or something because god _damn_. On that note, Lance and how he’d also somehow grown up hot when Keith wasn’t looking. How the fuck did that even happen? The last time he’d trained with Lance, the guy had looked like an overgrown daddy longlegs, and now he just looked like dadd—

_Nope,_ Keith interrupted the thought. _I swear to fucking—you did_ not _just think that_. He resisted the urge to smack himself on the head, the embarrassment settling in a warmth across his cheeks.

So apparently, Keith found Lance attractive. He’d been reluctant to even entertain the thought before, but he supposed that he really couldn’t deny it anymore, now that the revelation was staring him in the face. But that wasn’t weird, was it? It wasn’t that Keith thought Lance was hot. It was that Lance was objectively hot, and Keith just happened to be really gay and have eyes. It wasn’t like Keith was crushing on him, it was nothing special. Everyone must’ve thought Lance was hot, and found his flair for dramatics endearing, and gotten lost in the blue of Lance’s eyes when he fought with them, and checked to see if Lance was watching before they went for their turn, and gotten flustered when Lance’s eyes lit up after he’d seen them stick a landing, and—

“Keeeith,” Hunk’s voice brought him out of his trance as he waved a hand in front of Keith’s eyes until they focused. “You still there, man?”

“Wh—yeah, what’s up?” Keith blinked, finally looking up at Hunk.

“It’s uh… it’s your turn.” Hunk pointed up the runway to where Lance stood, hands on his hips and waiting for Keith to get up. Keith looked over at Shiro next, who waved a hand to him in acknowledgement. Shit, so all three of them had been waiting for him? For how long?

“Right.” Keith stood stiffly, shaking out his arms to try and limber up for the vault.

“Is it straight?” Lance called from the end of the runway.

Keith nodded, suddenly gripped by the awkwardness that came from being caught daydreaming about your rival, then having to directly look at and address said rival when he’s shirtless, breathless, and covered in sweat.

_Fuck_ , Keith thought. _Maybe not so straight after all_.

When Lance had cleared out of the way, he took off on his run, tucking his chin down and leaning forward as he tried to push the thoughts of Lance out and concentrate on his vault. What had Shiro told him to do, again? A layout Yurchenko, right? Wait, did he want a timer or not? Had he even specified? Whatever, Keith was going to go for the timer. Entering on the beat board the same as last time, he reached back for the vault, finding himself a bit too high on his hands. It was a bit more difficult to push off than last time, not faring him well since he had to flip this vault in a stretched body position, slowing his rotation down significantly. He curved his chest in as he dropped his shoulders off the repulsion, hoping to speed up enough to still miss his feet. He almost managed it, just barely catching his heels before he landed on his back.

“Keith, you’re not focused,” Shiro said not a moment after he’d landed. “Is there something wrong, something you want to talk about?”

Keith shook his head, standing up and getting out of the landing area. He absolutely did not want to talk about this, especially not when he was still trying to figure out what the hell this _was_. “I’m fine, Shiro, just… a bit of nerves, is all.”

Shiro gave him a sympathetic smile. “Keith, I know it’s your first day training with the team, but remember that no one’s here to judge you, alright? Not even Lance.”

Keith stiffened. “What about Lance?” He hoped his apprehension hadn’t shown.

Shiro’s eyes went wide. “Nothing about Lance!” Shiro was backtracking, evidently worried that he’d touched some sort of nerve for Keith. “It’s just…” his shoulders sagged, expression softening. “He gives everyone a hard time. That’s what he does. But if he’s doing that, it just means he’s warming up to you, you know? It’s not a bad thing.”

Keith ducked his head while removing his mats, praying that Shiro wouldn’t notice the blush creeping across his complexion. Maybe he’d think it was from the exertion if he did. Keith could only hope. “Yeah sure, I get it.” He really wished Shiro hadn’t said anything about it. His words were making Keith’s stomach do backflips.

_Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit dammit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t exaggerating about the leg breaking btw. Although it wasn’t on a Drag (I think it was on a tsuk double tuck but I also could be remembering wrong bc… well I remembered what happened AFTER the vault more), a French gymnast called Samir Ait Said had what I’d have to call the most NASTY injury I have ever seen in my life during the Rio Olympics. Like if ur squeamish in the slightest do NOT search it out but like if u wanna know what I’m talking about just search up his name and find the one from the olympic quals on vault. And if you do, please keep in mind I watched that live, like, with no warning. Plus my sister made me replay it.  
> Also godDEM Keith finally gets it through his thick skull that he’s got a crush. And now, it’s time for the delicious pining. U GH I love pining so much. Like… too much for it to be healthy. bUT ANYWAY—  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)! Thanks for sticking through, and I hope you enjoy what’s to come!
> 
> [ Lance's front-front drill ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l1tbPMN7G_U/)  
> [ Handspring double front ](https://youtu.be/ztHHV-qDYgk?t=3/)  
> [ Dragulescu (until 0:19) ](https://youtu.be/Gj22f_c8OO8?t=14/)  
> [Yurchenko tuck](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjpCHZHuD04) (there are no good-quality videos of the exact drill Keith does, but this should give you a general sense of what's happening)


	8. Love Tsuks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith struggles to hide his newly-discovered crush on Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying making gymnastics puns in the titles far too damn much.  
> This is probably like my second-favourite chapter, tbh (my favourite is coming up later in the fic). I love to make Keith suffer through painful awkwardness around Lance and I do it a lot in here. Enjoy!

Keith reckoned it was about time he faced facts. Sitting alone in an ice bath he drew after training was probably the best time to do this. He dropped his chest below the surface of the water, submerging himself up to his neck as he watched an ice cube drift lazily across the surface.

Fact #1: Keith had a crush. It wasn’t his first crush, although arguably he hadn’t handled his previous one very well. Another biker in his area had cropped up out of nowhere a few months back when he was still in Plano, and for some reason Keith’s stomach would flutter every time he looked his way. In a bout of frustration he had punched the guy square in the jaw, inadvertently starting some sort of turf war between two gangs, one of which belonged to the cute biker, and the other one that they had assumed Keith had belonged to. It was only in hindsight a few days later that Keith had recognised his feelings—Keith didn’t do all too well with feelings—and thus nothing came about it. Well, nothing except the turf war, of which Keith had no part in any case.

Aside, Keith wondered how he’d been so blind to his current crush for so damn long. Liking a guy so much that it frustrates him to the point of physical violence was apparently his thing. How had he been so dense?

Fact #2: This particular crush happened to be on Lance.  _Great going, Keith_ , he scolded himself. The biggest asshole on the planet, the guy who made himself a perpetual nuisance to Keith for the past month-and-a-half, and who constantly needs to show Keith up, despite making a point in telling him over and over again how much he sucks, and Keith decides to fall for him. For his stupid smile, and his stupid laugh, and how his stupid face lights up when he talks about the stupid things he likes, like pop music, and Candy Crush, and Star Wars. 

Keith groaned, wondering if he should just dip down under the water and never come back up. On the one hand, it’s an embarrassing way to go, naked and pruny in an ice cold bath, to be discovered by your crush and your two new sort-of-maybe friends. On the other hand, Keith would be dead, so he wouldn’t feel embarrassed anyway.

He leaned his head back to rest on the lip of the tub. Fact #3: There might be a possibility of Lance liking Keith. Not in a romantic way, no. Maybe not even in a sexual way, although Lance had never really been specific on his sexuality. He’d said on a few occasions that he wanted to woo the ladies—Actually, scratch that; Keith was pretty sure it had only happened once. So was it possible Lance was bisexual, or pansexual, or poly, or something? Of course. Stranger things have happened. But even still, if he were attracted to guys, could it be possible he didn’t know it yet? Keith knew firsthand that a gymnastics club wasn’t exactly the best place to discover and explore one’s sexuality, which was kind of strange, when you consider the lack of clothes everyone has on, along with the fact that quite a number of them are in a very hormonal time in their lives. But this train of thought was getting off-topic. He rubbed at his temples with frozen fingers, wondering why his brain had decided to wander to Lance’s sexuality of all things. 

No, the possibility Keith was talking about was the possibility that Lance might one day think of him as a friend. Shiro’s words from training today played on nonstop loop in his head. “ _It just means he’s warming up to you_ .” They haunted him. God, this would’ve been so much easier if Lance had just hated him like he was supposed to! Then Keith would be forced to quash those feelings, as he did with most of the other ones he’d felt, and he’d move on with his life, far away from Lance. But this complicated things. Keith was supposed to like Lance and be nice to him—because, as he let himself slowly admit, he truly was starting to feel at place at Voltron, with his three roommates—but not in a particular way. Laughs could be shared, but not too often. Looks were necessary, but they couldn’t linger. Physical intimacy would happen, but only in certain places and only for a certain amount of time. This was going to be hard. Keith was being asked to tiptoe a line that, up until recently, he’d never been able to locate for lack of need. Hell, even now he only had a vague idea of where it lay. 

This tied into fact #4: Keith had not been doing a great job at hiding his crush. He was lucky that his feelings were fucked up and he apparently mostly showed that he liked Lance by yelling at him and hurling insults his way. But today, he’d been acting differently, daydreaming about Lance in front of the entire gym, and he knew that people had started to take notice. Not just on the one occasion at vault, either. While Keith was on the parallel bars, he had found himself distracted by the thought of a story Lance had told him a few days back—something about how Allura had once made him sit out a whole event in training because he kept insisting on singing “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys at the top of his lungs during his floor choreography, and she complained about how it was distracting to himself, to her, and to the rest of the athletes—and had missed his hand on a pirouette, crashing hip-first onto the bar and sending him tumbling onto the mat underneath. He dipped his hand beneath the water, running gentle fingers across the newly forming bruise and feeling the swollen flesh beneath the pads of his fingertips. He remembered thinking that Lance’s wheezing laughter at the graceless fall was worth the bruise at the time.

Keith had it bad. He was willing to admit to that.

Fact #5: After the Classic, all of this was over. Despite Keith generally making a fool of himself left right and centre today, he really was on track to getting back some decent routines. He wasn’t ready to compete all of his hardest skills, but he didn’t need to. This was just a qualifying meet for the people who hadn’t yet made it to Nationals, like Hunk—a great talent for eighteen, but still only eighteen—and a practice meet for those who had, like Lance. Even without his highest possible difficulties, he could easily smoke the competition if he hit his routines, and Keith was determined to do that, if nothing else. He would win the purse, and then it was goodbye Lance, goodbye VGA, and goodbye gymnastics in general. See you never. He refused to be sad about it. This was the freedom he’d just spent almost two months working to regain. Lance was cute, but he wasn’t worth the trouble of staying with gym. Keith had decided upon that. This was just a stupid little crush, and that’s all he’d ever let it be. He wasn’t going to let this fester and grow. He’d live with it the way it was right now, then he’d get the hell out and he’d leave it behind. He had to.

He heard a knock on the door. He sat up abruptly, icy water spilling out the side of the tub. He cursed.

“What’s up?” He called over to the door.

“You going to be in there much longer?” Pidge’s voice came out from the other side of the door. “I need to wash up too, y’know?”

“Right, I’ll be a minute.” He dipped his head briefly under water, running his hands through his hair once he came back up, and pulled the plug.

* * *

 

Keith came back downstairs dressed in warm sweats and an oversized hoodie. He still felt frozen up from his ice bath, and he was trying desperately to get warm again. He dropped down on the couch next to Lance, who had already showered and changed and was now playing Candy Crush on his phone.

“Crap, man!” Lance recoiled when Keith’s shoulder accidentally brushed against his. “You’re absolutely freezing. What the hell?”

Keith furrowed his brow, not understanding Lance’s shock. “I just took an ice bath, chill.”

“I would never.” He pointed a finger towards the bathroom, purposefully misunderstanding Keith’s directive. “That tub is sacred. It is only ever to be used for hot showers, bubble baths, and bath bombs.”

“I meant calm down.” Keith knew Lance understood that, but somehow that made his dramatics all the more endearing. He smiled, but looked away so as not to linger. Cool and aloof, but not distant. He hoped.

“Who would even want to take a bath in ice, anyway?”

“No one,” Keith laughed, looking back to him. “Lance, you don’t take ice baths for the hell of it. They’re uncomfortable as fuck and leave you freezing your ass off. It’s not how I want to spend my Friday nights, trust me.”

“So then why?” Lance sounded exasperated, but slid a bit closer to Keith as he got used to the cold. _Uh oh_ , Keith thought. _Nope, this isn’t good. Go back, go back_.

“It’s good for your muscles, makes you less sore.” Keith could feel the heat radiating off of Lance a lot more, even with the few inches he’d closed back up between the two.

Lance’s brow furrowed incredulously. “Really? That doesn’t sound right. Hunk? Is that true?” He turned to call over the back of the couch to the kitchen, and Keith was momentarily thankful that Lance wasn’t watching him any more.

“Is what true?” Hunk called back.

“Do ice baths help with sore muscles?”

Hunk came over from the kitchen then, rounding the couch and sitting down on Lance’s opposite side. “I think triathletes do it to lose weight, but I’m not sure about what it would do for sore muscles. We’d be better off getting a second opinion.” As if on cue, the water shut off right then, and Lance stood up, knees brushing against Keith’s as he passed him to get to the bathroom door. Keith had only been downstairs a minute, but there had already been a lot more casual proximity than he had expected. Is this what friends did? Got up in people’s personal spaces without even acknowledging it?

Lance banged a fist against the door thrice, loud enough to give Pidge an audible start.

“What? What is it?!” She shouted from inside the bathroom.

“We need a second opinion,” Lance replied.

“A second o-Pidge-eon, you could say,” Hunk added.

Lance turned to give his best friend a disappointed glare. “No puns. We’ve discussed this.”

“Hold on, just give me a minute.” She emerged not twenty seconds later, hair wrapped up in a towel and dressed in an old competition t-shirt and basketball shorts that looked more like capris on her tiny figure. “Alright, what’s up?” She walked past Lance towards the couch, sidling past Keith and Hunk to squish herself into the far corner.

Lance followed her and retook his spot next to Keith, their legs pressed together now that space on the couch had become sparse. Keith promised himself he wouldn’t lean into the warmth that radiated through the thin layer of Lance’s pyjamas. He was cold, and he was craving Lance’s touch, but he was in control, or at least trying to be. He kept his eyes fixed on Pidge, making an effort to look past the back of Lance’s head, ends of his hair still drying from the shower he’d taken after Hunk.  _Keep it together, Keith_ , he silently implored.

“Do ice baths help with sore muscles?” Lance replied. “Keith has defiled our sacred bathtub, and I want to know if it was for nothing after all.”

Pidge tapped a finger to her chin, giving this a think. “I’ve heard of people using ice baths for it, but I’m not sure if there’s any scientific evidence to back it. Hang on.” She grabbed her laptop off the coffee table, typing furiously once opened and furrowing her brow in concentration. “Hm…” Her eyes darted across the screen for a few moments while she scrolled, and everyone waited silently for her verdict.

Lance shifted a touch closer to Keith, and Keith tried his best to shrink further into the cushion without being noticed. It failed on both fronts, ending him up just where he’d began and prompting Lance to glance over with a curious look, mouth opening to start a question, but he was interrupted before he could start.

“So it looks...” Pidge began, not taking her eyes off the screen, and Lance turned back to her, “like there’s not a whole bunch of research on it. As long as you don’t give yourself a heart attack from the shock, it doesn’t seem to be too dangerous, though.”

Keith shrugged, thankful that her answer had interrupted whatever comment Lance had been preparing. “They work for me.”

“So then there you have it.” She shut her laptop and set it back down on the coffee table, then leaned back into the couch, putting her feet up as she grabbed her phone from the armrest.

“Huh. So I guess we’re right back where we started with that,” Hunk replied. He reached down to grab the remote from off the coffee table, turning on the TV and flipping it on to Netflix.

“It’s kind of disappointing.” Lance shifted as if to stand, but swung his legs over Hunk’s lap instead, laying back and resting his head on Keith’s thighs. Keith sputtered, catching himself a moment later and trying to school his face into a more neutral expression as he hoped he was only imagining the burn against his cheeks.

“Aw Lance,” Hunk groaned, “don’t do this.”

“What? Pidge always gets to lie down on us when we watch TV! Now that we have four people, there’s enough room for me to get my turn!” Pidge pushed away at his legs, but Lance was firm, gripping at the cushions of the couch and settling further in. Keith felt his shoulders tense, Lance unwittingly making their contact increasingly intense. He bit his lip and forced himself to watch the movie thumbnails appear on the screen. The line of intimacy was in constant flux, and Keith was finding it damn near impossible to navigate.

“But your butt’s so _bony_ , Lance,” Hunk whined, giving a half-hearted attempt to shove him with one hand as he scrolled through the titles with the other.

“Hey, don’t bad talk my butt! It can hear you!” Pidge and Hunk begrudgingly abandoned their struggle against him, and he took that as his opportunity to settle in a more comfortable position, resting on his back and nestling the side of his face on Keith’s lap as he too joined in to watch the screen.

Keith found himself suddenly gripped by the odd temptation to tangle his fingers in Lance’s hair. He remembered as a young boy how he’d rest his head in his mother’s lap, much as Lance did right now, and how she would twirl his hair around her fingers, drawing soothing circles against his scalp at the end of a long day. Some weird, fucked up part of his brain wanted that sort of domestic intimacy with Lance, he figured. The same part that made him laugh at Lance’s unfunny jokes, or told him that it was okay to let his gaze linger a second longer. But that seemed to cross the line of intimacy. Resting your head in someone’s lap? Normal, he supposed, given that Lance was laid out across all his friends, not just Keith. Running your hands through someone’s hair as they did so? Definitely not. 

_Don’t make it weird Keith_ , he thought, draping one arm over the back of the couch and the other over the armrest, trying to act casual.  _You can do this_ . 

Did this mean that Lance considers him a friend, too?

_Nope. Don’t even go there. Don’t get attached_ .

“So, what are we watching tonight?” Pidge’s question pulled him out of his reverie. He looked over to Hunk, expectant as he held possession of the remote.

“Ooh ooh!” Lance spoke up, pulling Keith’s gaze over. “Didn’t that new gymnastics movie come out? The direct-to-TV one?”

“Oh right! What was it called?” Hunk asked, wanting to know what he had to search to find it.

“Uhh…” Lance stalled, “It was like… ‘Chalk up’ or ‘Full In’ or something like that. Jeez, how do I not remember? We’ve been waiting, like, _ages_ for it to come out.”

“Perfect Ten.” Pidge answered, holding her phone to them as evidence.

“On it,” Hunk replied, the preview popping up no later than he’d pressed enter. Keith chuckled at how cheesy the movie had looked already, glancing over the description but barely hanging onto a word it said.

“Oh man, two star rating.” Lance observed, rubbing his hands together. “Beauties and gentle-beauties, are we ready?”

“Oh hell yeah!” Pidge cheered.

“Yup,” Keith ventured to reply, not missing how Lance seemed to beam at him momentarily when he broke his silence. He fought back the butterflies that rose in his stomach.

“Let’s do this!” Hunk added, pressing enter and casting the room into a momentary darkness as it loaded.

* * *

 

As time went by and the terrible movie played on, Keith’s discomfort at the situation dissipated almost entirely. He got used to the comforting weight of Lance’s head against his legs, and indeed was a little thankful that the proximity had warmed him up a bit. He was still seized by the occasional shiver in his core, but he’d warmed up significantly from his bath. At some point in the first ten minutes, Pidge had disappeared into the kitchen to pop some popcorn, coming back with a bowl to share with Hunk, and passing a bowl over for Lance to share with Keith.

Now, Keith was no rube. He had watched a few shows and movies and seen a few romantic subplots in his time, and he knew that the popcorn bowl was a classic ‘moment’ for a character to share accidental contact with their crush. He refused to fall victim to that trope. The embarrassment would just be too much to handle. He’d timed his scoops well in between Lance’s, keeping the bowl that sat atop Lance’s chest in his peripheral vision as he watched the film and only reaching for handfuls when he was certain Lance wasn’t.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit more embarrassing than just accidentally brushing hands with Lance in the popcorn bowl. But whatever, it wasn’t like Lance was going to catch on. He had been far too absorbed in the awful movie, calling out inaccuracies and plot holes as often as he caught them, which was often indeed.

“How did Kelly qualify to even _go_ to the American Cup if it’s her first senior year? Didn’t she say she was a nobody in her junior years, who the hell would’ve put her up for that competition?” He criticised, gesturing sharply at the screen and jostling the popcorn bowl until it threatened to tip over due to his actions for the umpteenth time.

“Not even the Rodionenkos are that delusional.”

“Exactly! Thank you, Pidge!” He thrust a hand out to her, motioning to emphasise her remark.

“Uh oh, here comes the Evgenia, the Russian Diva.” Hunk warned, tone thick with amusement as he tried to conceal his giggles. The bubbly blonde heroine and her stoic nemesis made fierce eye contact, each staring the other down as they passed each other, and the four of them miserably failed to hold their laughter down.

Keith then noticed out of the corner of his eye that Lance was staring at him. “The hell are you looking at?” He tried to sound annoyed but the residual mirth from watching the film reduced his ability to contain his smile.

“Y’guys ever notice that Evgenia looks a lot like Keith?” He tilted his head as he continued to scrutinise Keith’s face.

“What? No I—” Keith started.

“Oh my god!” Hunk exclaimed, eyes wide in revelation as he looked at Keith. “You’re so right! He has that same moody scowl!”

Keith’s jaw hung open as he tried to mount a reply. “Wh—She…I do  _not_ have a moody scowl!” It was all he could come up with. He could tell that his pout was not helping his case but he didn’t care.

Pidge sat forward to look at him too. “I thought she looked familiar! Keith, do you think you’re going to sue for them using your likeness?” She gasped. “Or wait, did you give them permission to write you into this movie?”

“You guys are ridiculous,” he groaned, bringing his hands to cover his reddening face.

“Wait, would that make Lance Kelly, then?” Pidge asked.

Lance shot up to his elbows, and Keith pulled his hands away from his face to watch the unexpected reaction. “No! No, it would not!”

“No yeah, totally would.” Hunk nodded his agreement with her.

“I thought you were on my side, Hunk! Best friends for life, what is this betrayal?”

“I’m sorry Lance, but facts are facts. If Keith’s Evgenia—which he is—then you, as his self-proclaimed rival, are Kelly.”

“Ugh.” Lance dropped back into Keith’s lap with a groan. “Guess you and I have to suffer through this awful movie together, Keith.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Lance, my whole life’s an awful movie at this point.”

Lance smiled. “Too true. But hey, maybe you’ll come out of this the winner, like Kelly will: gold medal and devastated rival and elite gymnast teammate-slash-boyfriend forced love interest and all.”

Keith snorted. If Lance only knew which one of those he wanted the most. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

“Yeah, she’s just about to go up on the vault!” Pidge chimed in, and they all fell silent, watching as the film built to its ever-approaching climax.

They watched Kelly perform her vault, taking an over-acted step on the landing, but finishing it off with an almost backbreaking salute.

“Oh man, what do you think that’s going to score, Pidge?” Lance prompted his friend, poking her with a toe.

Pidge mocked an official-sounding voice. “Well, seeing as though it’s a Yurchenko full, she took a point-three step, and this movie is utter bullshit and is misusing a code that’s been outdated for ten years, I’m going to give it a 9.6.” They all shared a snicker at the reply.

“9.8, so close Pidge!” Hunk called out the score that flashed across the screen, followed by a disappointed pout from Kelly. “Aww Lance, don’t look so sad. Oh hey, it’s Keith’s turn up!” He and Pidge now shared a laugh at the expense of the two.

Evgenia’s face, steely and determined, flashed across the screen. “Wow Keith, you’re wearing quite a bit of makeup there,” Pidge jeered. “Now is that only for competition or are we just not special enough for you to get dolled up here.”

“Lance, do me a favor and kick Pidge for me.”

Lance laughed. “Gladly.” Pidge joined his laughter as he gave her a lighthearted jab with his heel, then they settled back into silence once Evgenia completed her vault, her score flashing 9.825.

“Are these judges blind? I want an inquiry, show me where they took the points away!” Lance cried in fake outrage, gesticulating passionately towards the screen.

“Put your hands down, I can’t see the movie!” Hunk swatted at his outstretched arms, overtaken by another bout of giggles.

Keith smiled, wondering how he’d managed to fit in so well with the VGA trio in just a short six weeks. He remembered the words Pidge told him the first time he’d met her: “ _If you want it, you have a place at Voltron_ .” He’d been thankful for the words at the time, mostly because it was his first interaction that didn’t involve death glares and unspoken anger. But now, he wondered at them. Did he have a place at Voltron? He must have. There was no single moment when it happened, no switch that had been flipped, but somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d found a place. Did he search it out? Was that how he found it? Every morning when he went to the gym, he convinced himself that this was all strictly business. But was it still? There had always been a part of him that missed gymnastics, he knew that. But with every day he spent at Voltron, even the days where his frustration had led him to tears, he felt that part grow bigger, the voice in his head telling him to keep going getting louder.

He bit his lip. Along with that, the pit of guilt that sat in his stomach grew bigger and bigger every day. Guilt for his ex-teammates, whose dreams he’d crushed by walking out at Worlds two years ago. Guilt for his parents, for rebelling against them and lashing out at them for making the wrong choice, trying to act in what they thought were his best interests. Guilt for Shiro, who had been through such an ordeal of his own, just to find that Keith had thrown his life down the crapper for something neither of them could control. He’d been content with ignoring this guilt before, throwing himself into increasingly dangerous and idiotic situations as a distraction from his feelings, but he couldn’t keep them down any longer. Could he really just come back to this life after turning his back on it, leaving unforeseeable devastation in his wake? Could he really just pretend that it never happened?

“Keith,” Lance called out softly, “buddy, are you okay?” The world came back into focus and he looked down at Lance, whose brow furrowed in a cautious expression. Keith nodded dumbly. “Are you sure? You’ve been a bit spacey all day.”

He reached for the popcorn. “Yeah, it’s just—” his reply was cut short at the shock of hot on cold, and he yanked his hand back from the bowl, sending popcorn flying in all directions.

“Jeez, man!” Lance yelped, jostling the bowl as he pulled his own hand back. “You’re still freezing! It’s been, like, over an hour!”

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit_ . Keith couldn’t believe he just did that, after all that work on timing his reaches. His cheeks flushed anew as he tried to respond, ignoring the shame he felt for fucking up the one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. “It was an ice bath!”  _Genius, Keith. Absolute fucking genius_ . “I mean, uh…” he stalled, trying to find something else to add. “It takes time to heat back up!”

“Well how long does it usually take?” Lance’s voice held a shrill quality, as it always did when he got unnerved.

“I don’t know, usually less than this?” Keith floundered. “But I can’t just make myself heat up quicker, it doesn’t work that way!”

Lance frowned, setting his jaw determinedly. “Give me your hands.” He held up both of his own.

“What? No!” Keith’s heart raced, and he tried his best to look repulsed by the notion. Friends _definitely_ weren’t supposed to hold hands. That undoubtedly crossed the line.

“Keith, you’re going to die of hypothermia at this rate! You’re clearly already starting to lose your mind!”

“Can the two of you can it?” Pidge griped from the other side of the couch. “Kelly just fell off the beam on her back walkover, and we don’t know if she’ll get back up!”

“I’ll can it when Keith holds my hands!”

“Keith, just do it,” Hunk advised, also sounding a bit irritated by the distraction from the movie. “He’s not going to shut up until you do.”

“This is ridiculous!” Keith exclaimed.

“Keith you don’t have to buy me dinner or invite me up just take my fucking hands!”

“Fucking—FINE!” He shouted, grabbing onto Lance’s hands in the hopes that he’d finally drop it. Keith would just have to suck it up and deal with the awkwardness until he got used to the contact.

Lance wasn’t about to make that easy, though. He breathed a relieved sigh when Keith had given him his hands, and he was now pulling them up against his chest, holding them tight.

“There, now was that so hard?” He asked, murmuring so as to not set Pidge and Hunk off again. He earned a side eye from Pidge, but nothing more.

“Yes,” Keith deadpanned. Lance didn’t know the half of it. Lance started rubbing gentle circles on the backs of his hands with his thumbs, and Keith curled his toes as he tried to distract himself from the dangerously pleasant sensation.

“Your hands are so dry,” Lance commented, “no wonder you rip every day.” He ran his fingers against the torn edges in Keith’s palm, and it set the sensitive skin afire.

He squirmed to deal with the discomfort. “Can you not touch them? Stop making this weird. I can’t moisturize, it’ll make me rip more. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, but you can’t do nothing with them! You have to nourish the skin and sand the calluses, you don’t just leave it!”

“You just tape up over the rips. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel, Lance.” Hunk passive-aggressively turned the volume of the TV up, trying to let the two of them know that they’ve got to start reading the room.

“Keith, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but one day, there’s going to be someone out there who’s going to want to hold your hand. Now, maybe you don’t want to hold their hand, maybe you just roll like that—and, by the way, that’s totally fine—but maybe you’re going to want to hold their hand too. And you’re going to hold yours out, and they’re going to grab it, and they’ll be all like ‘ew, gross! This dude’s hands are so nasty, it makes me want to rethink every decision in my life that led me to where I stand right now, holding his hand.’ And they’re going to run away and join some monkhood where they’re never going to have the chance to hold another hand again. All of this, because you were a nasty, Keith. Could you live with yourself if you did that to someone?”

“Lance, I’m holding your hands right now. Are you about to run off and join some monkhood so you never have to hold a hand again?”

“Gymnastics pretty much is like a celibate monkhood,” Pidge replied, unable to resist putting her two cents in.

“Not true, I’ve held plenty of hands before! If you know what I mean,” he added, waggling his eyebrows at Keith, who immediately flushed.

Hunk gasped. “Lance, don’t be gross! There’s children present!” He clapped his hands over Pidge’s ears, and she squirmed to break out of his grip, to no avail.

“I’m literally two years younger than you, Hunk! Stop treating me like a baby!” She pushed at his arms, but was no match to his strength. They all collapsed into another fit of laughter.

“P-Pidge! Hunk! St-stop talking! I can’t…” Lance sputtered between laughs, “can’t hear the movie!”

“Yeah, Lance is up next on floor!” Keith joked, and Lance squeezed his fingers hard as a silent reprimand for poking fun at him.

“Oh man, you guys know he’s going to need a perfect score to beat Keith. I wonder if he’s got it in him,” Hunk responded, grinning widely, and they all settled into silence as Kelly’s routine began.

She stuck each of her impossibly simple tumbles, earning a perfect ten in the end, despite glaring form errors. They all whooped and cheered with mocking gusto as the film came to its resolution, ending with Kelly sharing a kiss with her forced love interest as it faded to black and the credits rolled.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I thought that film was top-notch,” Hunk joked, stretching his arms up over his head as he followed it up with a yawn. “But I’m beat. Lance, get off so I can go to bed.”

“Hm? I didn’t hear that, sorry. I’m suddenly feeling very sleepy…” Lance went slack, making exaggerated snoring noises. Keith chuckled.

Hunk and Pidge shared a look, then gave Lance a synchronised shove off their laps. Lance shrieked as he was thrown off the couch, and he gripped tighter onto Keith’s hands. Keith felt his stomach drop as Lance pulled him down, tucking his head in to miss the coffee table, and landing face-down into Lance’s chest with a shared  _oof!_

“Um, _rude_ much?” Lance complained, as Hunk and Pidge stepped over the two of them to leave.

“G’nite,” Hunk said, and Pidge waved over her shoulder, the two of them disappearing up the stairs.

After a few moments of silence between them, Keith looked up at Lance with a pout. “You didn’t have to pull me down.” Their hands remained laced together, Lance’s breath running across their knuckles with how he’d pulled them up to his face during their fall.

“Well, what did you expect me to do?” Lance grumbled.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Let go?”

“If I did, you wouldn’t hold back on, and you’re still cold as hell.”

_Why did Lance even care?_ “I don’t need you to look after me; you’re not my mom.”

“Well if I don’t, who’s going to?” Lance snapped.

“I’m twenty-two, I can take care of my goddamn self!” Lance was being ridiculous, Keith decided. He ripped his hands out of Lance’s grip and stood, folding his arms across his chest as he huffed and dropped back onto the couch. “Stop trying to babysit me. You do enough of that back at the gym.”

“I was just trying to make sure you didn’t kill yourself! Which, by the way, you almost did, like, twelve times.” Lance followed his example, pushing off the coffee table to stand from the floor.

He remembered Lance’s words from earlier in that day.  _“No one wants you out of here more than me,”_ and it finally clicked. Lance didn’t care, he was just trying to get Keith out of VGA. How had Keith been so stupid? Lance didn’t see him as a friend. He saw him as a project. 

He rubbed at his temples, feeling the couch sag next to him as Lance sat. “Shiro put you up to that, I’m guessing.” Shiro had said he was sending in  coaches , not  Lance .

Lance sighed. “Yeah. He said we needed to look out for you, since he was worried you’d break something when no one was watching.” Lance put an arm over his shoulder, and Keith shot him a dark glare. “Dude, you’re still fucking freezing.”

Keith didn’t feel it. He felt fine. Well, far from fine, but he didn’t feel cold. He just wanted Lance to get the hell away from him right now. Everything had been going well before. Great, actually. They’d been talking and laughing and joking, but that was gone now, replaced by tension so thick you could slice through it with a knife.

“Well, you guys won’t have to worry about me in a week,” Keith griped. He leaned his head against Lance’s shoulder, because Lance had made it clear wasn’t letting go any time soon and Keith was just too tired to fight it right now.

The DVD player, now on standby, flashed 11:53. They had training tomorrow morning, too. They should be going to bed. The next day, they would go to the gym. They would be civil. They’d come back home. They would be civil. Repeat this a few times until the Classic was here. Keith would keep his head down at the competition, and win the purse, and pack his shit. In less than two weeks, he’d be back home. He’d forget all of this, the belonging he felt at VGA, his feelings for Lance, the delusions he’d believed that he could maybe one day have friends, and he’d move on. He’d finally turn the page on this chapter of his life, once and for all, and he’d never look back. He couldn’t.

“Keith, don’t say it like that,” Lance implored softly. Keith let his eyes drift closed, giving in to his exhaustion.

“You said it yourself, you just want me out of here.” He felt so heavy, and Lance felt so warm.

Lance was silent for a few moments, and Keith wondered if that meant he’d let it go. “I didn’t mean it like that…”  _Like what? How else could you mean it?_ “I…” he adjusted his arms around Keith, settling them both a bit closer. “You know it’s not personal, right?”

“Sure.” Keith felt his breathing slow, and the din of the idle house ebbed away, ears picking up singularly on the sound of Lance’s voice when he spoke.

“You’ve been miserable since you got here, Keith. Even out of the gym, you still hardly talk to us.” Lance rested his cheek on Keith’s head, the exhaustion seeming to be contagious. Was that what they thought? Keith had been doing his best to be social, despite himself. “It’s just… better if you go. Isn’t that what you want?”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Keith informed, avoiding Lance’s question, “if this is supposed to be an apology.”

Lance chewed on that a moment. “Are we okay, then?” Keith nodded, although he hadn’t entirely convinced himself.

“Yeah, we’re okay.”

“Are you falling asleep?” He could hear a smile in Lance’s voice now.

“Mm, nope.” He denied, feeling his consciousness slip away.

“Wh—hey, you can’t fall asleep on me! I have to go to bed, and so do you! Allura will kill us if we ruin our backs sleeping on the couch. Come on—” He pulled Keith to stand, tightening his arms around his slack body. “Don’t make me carry you, Keith.”

Keith grunted as Lance forced him back into the realm of the waking. “Okay, okay, I’m awake.” Lance let his arms slide away from Keith as he stepped off towards the bathroom. He was halfway through the bathroom door before he froze, turning back and fixing Keith with an implacable look.

“You know…” he chewed his lip, as though building up the nerve to say something. “You know I don’t hate you, right?” His voice was infinitely quiet, and some part of Keith thought he was just dreaming these words up.

“You don’t have to apologize, Lance,” Keith reiterated.

“No, it’s not an apology, I just…” He looked to the floor, furrowing his brow in apparent frustration, and Keith wondered how Lance McClain, of all people, could look so small. “I just want to know if you know.”

Keith nodded. “It’s not personal, it’s just…” He looked for the words to complete Lance’s sentiment from moments ago. “We have history.”

Lance looked almost astonished when he looked back up at Keith. “History,” he breathed, “yeah. We have history.”

“Good night, Lance.” Keith turned to walk up the stairs, not waiting for his reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs klangst all over my skin*  
> Okay, so like. I’ll admit that I wrote in that movie scene to poke fun at a lot of the really bad representations of gymnastics in movies and tv shows lmao (like Make it or Break it or like Full Out, although those two aren’t the worst, but I’m getting to that.) Anyway like I’d heard of the movie Chalk it Up coming out on Netflix and I was like o chill new gym movie maybe it’ll be like the new Stick It so like way after I wrote this chap I finally found the time to watch it and like. F uck. I basically called the movie tf out with Perfect Ten—which, mind, I pulled directly outta my ass because I was so tired of all the crappy gym movies and stuff. Like right down to the “scoring a perfect ten despite glaring flaws and sharing a kiss with the exTREMELY forced love interest as the movie faded out at the end” and I was watching it and I was like. Holy fuck.  
> And tbh the worst part was I couldn’t just like turn to my mom and be like “MA SWEET LORT I PREDICTED THIS SHIT BUT I NEVER FUCKIN THOUGHT IT’D BE REAL” because like I’m not gonna be like “bee tee dubs I’ve been staying up into the wee hours almost every night these past two months writing a story about two cartoon characters that I want to fall in love with each other instead of like you know doing school work for my very real and expensive uni classes” so I was suffering in silence m’dudes. Also do not watch that movie seriously like it’s got so many female characters and not a SINGLE one isn’t like really grossly misogynistically written. Save urself the headache.  
> Seriously, why can’t they make another gym movie that’s as good as Stick It? (also I was gonna make Lance say that as a line but then I realised they’d all b like damb keith ur just like Haley! And then they’d be hit with the realisation that they live in the fictional world created by a teenager—actually maybe I’ll be twenty by the time I upload this fic idk (ETA: I'm uploading it and yes I'm twenty lmao)—who got carried away with a really silly idea).  
> Also the story Keith talks about where Lance gets sent to the bench for singing the Alicia Keys song is actually what happened to me, except I was singing it when my coach had left the gym and I was literally screaming the lyrics and as such didn’t realise that my coach had walked back in so I got in Deep Shit™. I got in a lot of trouble back in my gym days I was a rebel B)  
> Anyways that’s a long ass note so back to business. Please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes) if you’re enjoying the fic! Thanks so much!


	9. Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Voltron prepares for the IG Classic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, but it’s done so to balance out the fact that the next one’s pretty… massive. So yeah, use this chap as a bit of a breather between last chapter and the next one, and if you’re reading this at like one in the morning mayyyybe you should stop after this one (although I’d be absolutely honoured to hear that someone stayed up even that late to read my fanfic, so if you are staying up late and reading it and ur comfortable letting me know please do so because like. That would make my fucking week dude.)

The next week seemed to fly past. The athletes all focused in on their own routines at the gym, and it made training on the same equipment as another teammate rare at best. This left very little time for Keith to talk to Lance, or Pidge and Hunk for that matter. Allura had reduced their numbers before competition, trying to build them to a peak on the day of the Classic. No new skills, bare bones warm-ups, a few turns on each event, then a quick cool down and they were done. This had staggered all of their schedules, leaving some of them later than the others and never having them finish together. Keith figured that this was probably best for him. There was no sense in building up relationships at training when they weren’t going to last to the end of the week. He’d walk home alone, exchange a few pleasantries with anyone who happened to be there when he arrived, wash up, ice his sore body, then sit up in his room, bingeing episodes of Ghost Adventures. He wasn’t sure who knew why he was competing at the Classic, save Lance who had been told apparently everything, but he could tell that his roommates sensed this competition would mean his departure. He wondered if that made Hunk and Pidge sad, in some way. In any case, he didn’t stick around them long enough to figure it out.

The exception to this routine was the day before the Classic. Training had lasted only two hours for Keith, and he lay flat on his stomach on the trampoline after finishing, browsing on his phone as he waited for Hunk and Lance to wrap up.

“Keith!” He heard Allura call, standing in the middle of the floor as Hunk and Lance stretched their splits out in front of her.

He rolled off the side of the trampoline, stuffing his phone in his pocket as he walked over to join the three of them. As he made his way, Allura called Coran and Shiro over too. The three coaches stood in front of Hunk, Lance, and Keith, now that he sat with them.

Allura put her hands on her hips as she started her speech. “As you three know, the Classic is tomorrow. You’ve all worked very hard, and have been showing a lot of confidence in your routines. Hunk, Coran and you have been working very hard to improve on your pommels, and I’ve seen a lot of progress with your consistency. Remember that you’ve practiced these routines hundreds of times, and that competition is just another one of those routines. We’ll stay with the double front on vault and work for that stick.” She turned her head over to Coran, relinquishing the floor for him to speak.

“Lance.” Coran cleared his throat.

“Coran, my man, tell me what’s good!” Lance leaned back on his palms, grinning up to him and exuding confidence.

“Your pommels have been excellent, as always. You’ve been having some trouble on parallel bars with your dismount—”

“But you know I’ll pull it together and stick it at competition!” Lance interrupted, still beaming.

“Precisely what I was going to say!” Coran didn’t seem to mind Lance’s intrusion.

“Lance, don’t interrupt your coach.” Allura reprimanded. “And Coran, that’s not what you were saying.” Keith chuckled. Did they recite these speeches? If so, obviously not enough.

“Oh uh, right.” Coran coughed into a fist before continuing. “What I meant to say was that this is just a practice meet for you. You don’t have to worry about giving your best performance; we’ll save that for Nationals. Don’t focus on sticking, focus on applying your corrections.”

Lance shrugged. “Okay, but I can’t help it if I’m flawless. Don’t blame me when I get a perfect score.”

“Alright then, Kelly,” Hunk muttered, and he and Keith shared a snicker at Lance’s expense. The coaches all fixed them with a curious look, but no one ventured to question it.

“Keith,” Shiro spoke up, “you’ve been doing fantastic work, considering how little time you’ve had to prepare. You have a really good chance of doing well, if you compete exactly the way you’ve been training.” Shiro folded his arms, and Keith could tell he was trying to look stern. “I don’t want you trying to put in any new skills at the last minute. You can earn high scores if you focus on your execution, you don’t need to add anything to your difficulty. Put up clean, safe routines, guaranteed to stick. Are you ready?”

Keith gave him a firm nod. He wasn’t going to dick around. This was his moment of truth, and he wasn’t about to mess it up. “You know it.” Shiro smiled, hardly containing his pride in his little brother. Keith couldn’t help but smile back.

Allura interrupted their small moment by continuing her speech. “I want the three of you to be dressed and packed by noon. I’ll pick you up from the house then, and I will not be waiting for anyone if they’re running late. Rest up tonight, and make sure you have a good breakfast.” She gave them a confident smile. “Let’s show them what team Voltron is made of. Lance and Hunk, you’re free to go. Keith?” She turned to him. “Shiro and I need to talk to you.”

Ignoring the teasing ‘ _ooooh_ ’s Lance and Hunk gave him as they left, Keith stood up to be addressed. “What’s up?” Coran also took his leave, sensing he was no longer part of this conversation.

“Shiro told me that you’re used to having him on the competition floor with you.” Keith shrugged, seeing as though the only time Shiro hadn’t been on the floor during his elite career was Worlds, and they all knew how that competition had ended.

“We need to have two coaches at the gym for our elite group tomorrow,” Shiro continued for her, “Coran has agreed to stay, and Allura was planning to go when it was just Hunk and Lance.”

“Now I can stay,” Allura spoke up, “if you feel that you need Shiro at the competition with you.”

Keith was starting to see what they were saying. “But you want to know if I’d be okay with having you on the floor instead of him.” Allura nodded, but Shiro looked a bit more apprehensive at his continuation.

“I can go, Keith. If you’d feel more confident with me there, I have no problem going. We’re leaving it up to you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Shiro. I can do this without you holding my hand all the way there. I’ll compete with Allura on the floor.”

“Are you sure?” Allura asked.

“Hunk’ll probably do better with you on the floor, Allura. I’ll be fine. Really,” he assured.

She and Shiro looked between each other, exchanging nods. “I guess it’s settled then.” She stepped away with a smile.

“That’s really big of you, putting the needs of your teammates before your own.” Shiro seemed to radiate pride. “I guess you really have grown up, after all.”

Keith gave him a sheepish smile, averting his gaze. “Don’t make this some sort of cheesy moment, Shiro.”

Shiro clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Keith. No matter how this goes, I want you to know that. Now go rest up, you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beauties and gentle-beauties, time to stretch ur legs, go to the bathroom, grab a drink, and settle in, because our next chapters a doozy and a half. It’s a moment I hope you’ve all been waiting for (although keep in mind that we’ve still got a bunch chapters to go and it’s a slowburn… so like… don’t get /those/ particular hopes up TOO too high… yet.)  
> And again if you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


	10. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Keith's moment of truth, as Voltron competes at the IG Classic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slurps up angst* Listen. Angst is my jam. As much as I love fluff (and I do, trust me), there’s nothing quite like angst to make that fluff all the more delicioso.  
> Also any fellow emetophobes in the house put ya hand UP! I know how difficult emetophobia can be to deal with so like high five of that good good solidarity my dude. So like, VERY LIGHT ALLUSION to the possibility of nausea in this chapter. Trust me, my phobia’s pretty intense so if I managed to write it I think you’ll be okay reading it. I’m mainly including it in here to let you know that there decidedly won’t be anything happening in that regards, even though it’s briefly mentioned. So like, no fear Shakespeare! We gucci? Alright, I hope you enjoy~

“Allura, pull the car over!” Hunk shrieked suddenly, giving Keith alone a small start.

“There’s a bag in the glovebox,” Allura informed, almost bored, as she kept her eyes forward on the highway speeding past.

“No, no, it’s not that!” He rooted frantically through the gym bag laid across his lap as he sat next to her in the passenger’s seat. “I forgot my grips!”

“Hunk, no you didn’t,” Lance countered from his seat behind him, “I saw you pack your grips last night.”

“Which pair?”

“Both!” Lance unbuckled his seatbelt and stood, hunching over between the front seats and searching through the bag as well. Keith flushed, averting his eyes when Lance stuck his ass directly in his face. He decided that the cars whipping past their van on the other side of the freeway divider were far more interesting than the sight of Lance’s ass shaking in front of his face when he continued to rummage. “And we checked this morning before leaving, remember?— _here_!” He hoisted the grip bag up triumphantly, waving it in front of Hunk’s face.

“Sit down, Lance,” Allura reprimanded, pulling onto the off-ramp. Lance handed the bag over to Hunk as he dropped back into his seat. Hunk snatched it from him, searching fervently through it as well.

“Grips, wrist guards, tape, scissors…” Hunk muttered as he named off the contents of the bag.

“Does he always get like this?” Keith leaned over to murmur as Lance clipped himself back in.

Lance sighed, smiling despite it. “Yeah, every time. After a while, you start knowing what to expect.”

“Everyone gets nervous, Lance,” Allura replied, “and we all deal with it differently.”

“Not me!” Lance beamed, jabbing a thumb proudly at his chest. “How ‘bout you, Keith?”

Keith set his jaw. “Absolutely not,” he lied. He’d felt queasy all morning at the thought of being back on the competition floor, but there was no way he was going to show that to anyone, especially Lance.

Lance raised an eyebrow, and gave him a challenging smirk. “You sure? It’s a big day for you. You can be nervous, it doesn’t make you any less of a man,” he taunted.

“It’s just a stupid meet. I’ve been to tons before.” Not without Shiro, though. Not after two years of retirement. Not with Lance and his stupid cocky smile and his teasing and his insanely good routines. Keith pulled at his ponytail, tightening it against his scalp to distract himself from the heaviness he felt inside his stomach. If Hunk wasn’t going to need that bag, Keith might.

“Alright, alright.” Lance let up, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Boys, let’s behave.” Allura turned the van into a crowded parking lot. “I want us to have a good, positive attitude when we enter the arena. Let’s show them what kind of team we are.”

“We’ll make you proud, princess.” Lance winked at her through the rearview mirror, then clapped a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Won’t we, Hunk?” Hunk gulped, giving an uncertain nod.

She pulled up to the front entrance. “I’ll meet you three inside. Don’t cause any trouble without me.”

“We’ll wait for you before we cause trouble, how about that?” Lance laughed, and Keith rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep down his smile. He disguised it by turning away and pushing the car door open to step out.

As soon as his feet hit the pavement, Keith lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the rays of the afternoon sun. He heard the doors slam behind him, Lance and Hunk coming to stand on his two sides as they all watched the people come and go through the entrance.

“Are we sure we came to the right place?” Hunk asked, panic fresh in his voice once more.

“Absolutely. Allura would never take us to the wrong place accidentally. Unless,” his tone turned mischievous, and he leaned over into Keith’s field of vision to give Hunk a devious smirk, “she left us here on purpose.”

Keith whacked him gently against the shoulder, starting to walk up the front steps. “Don’t be an asshole, Lance.”

“Yeah, Lance!” Hunk added emphatically over Keith’s shoulder.

As they stepped up, Keith watched their reflection in the glass doors. This was really happening. He was back in a competition uniform, looking as stiff and uncomfortable in it as he felt. He, Lance, and Hunk wore almost identical tracksuits, simple black zip-downs with a small, stylised “V” adornment over the heart, each in a different colour. Keith’s had chosen for his “V” to be red, Allura telling him that each colour symbolised a different virtue that Voltron athletes were to embody on and off the competition floor. Red symbolised determination and passion, but if Keith was being honest, he’d simply picked it because he liked the colour. He hesitated a moment when he gripped the handle of the door, taking a steadying breath before yanking it open.

Inside, the arena was teeming with people. The ambient volume of the building was enough to make Hunk and Lance’s conversation behind him nearly impossible to hear, which was quite the feat when you considered that Lance’s standard speaking voice was close to shouting. Keith immediately noticed about a dozen eyes on him when he walked through, scoffs and glares abundant as he returned a few of them. He brushed through a small crowd on his way to the registration desk, and he could have sworn he felt a few people shove into him intentionally. Whatever. He wasn’t going to engage them. He wasn’t going to be fazed by this. He had a job, and he was determined to do it.

“Keith Kogane,” he informed the girl at the registration desk, earning a double take from her before she browsed her sheets for his name.

“Oh really?” She sniped as her eyes ran down the list.

Keith snarled. “Yeah, is there a problem with—” A firm hand clamped against his shoulder.

“It should be under, ‘Voltron,’ with a ‘V’,” Lance interrupted, voice low and smooth. “Lance McClain, by the way.” He gave her a wink when she looked up.

She seemed to immediately forget Keith’s existence, a light blush creeping across her cheeks at Lance’s gesture. “Ah, of course! Let me just see…” she flipped fervently through to the lower pages on the registration, glancing up every so often to sneak a look at Lance. Keith didn’t know whether to feel jealous or embarrassed on her behalf. He settled for annoyance.

Lance put his other hand down and leaned against the table, ducking his head a tad to give her another charming smile. “Take your time, doll.” Keith rolled his eyes, although he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those looks.

She giggled coyly. “Right here!” She highlighted their two names. “Is Hunk with you?”

“Right there.” Lance nodded his head back, keeping eye contact with the girl. She ran her highlighter across his name as well.

“Let me just grab your numbers, then.” She disappeared under the tablecloth for a second, then came back with a cardboard box in her hands. She opened it up on the tabletop and flipped through the competition bibs, looking back to her papers every once in a while to cross-reference the numbers. “Here’s Hunk’s,” she passed it over Lance’s shoulder and he took it from her, “and yours, Lance,” she smiled warmly as she handed it to him, “and Keith’s.” She practically tossed it in his direction, not even bothering to look away from Lance to give him the bib. Keith fumbled for it, noting at that point that Lance still hadn’t lightened the vice grip on his shoulder.

“And how about yours, any chance I could get that number?” Lance waggled his eyebrows at her, and Keith couldn’t fight the urge to groan. Lance was so lame, and Keith wondered if having a crush on him meant that he was even lamer.

“Lance, we should go. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry,” Hunk spoke up, a new wave of anxiety seeming to take him over.

“Maybe later then. Make sure you keep an eye out for me on the podium, beautiful.” He flashed another grin at her before turning around. He finally let go of Keith’s shoulder, sliding his hand down to hook on his elbow and yanking him towards the entrance to the floor, trailing behind Hunk. “Dammit Keith,” he dropped the silky voice he’d been putting on at the registration desk, instead using a signature squawk of annoyance he always directed at him, “try not to get kicked out before your first event, okay?”

“Wh—she started it!” Keith’s tone mimicked Lance’s almost to a tee. Lance pushed through the entrance to the gym, still dragging him along.

“Yeah but she can’t get disqualified and lose her chance at the purse, _Keith_ ,” Lance hissed. “You’re just lucky I’ve got moves.”

Keith scoffed. “Moves? Is that what you call it? It looked more like some sort of primitive mating ritual to me.” Allura had somehow arrived onto the floor before them, and was waving them down at a row of chairs offset to the side of the competition area.

“Hey, my moves are spectacular! I’m no stranger to hand holding, like I told you.” Keith wondered if Lance was ever going to stop referring to sex as hand holding, or if he was genuinely referring to the very act and had the sexual maturity of a fourth-grader. “I’m a regular Casablanca, you know.”

Keith was leaning towards fourth-grader. “I think you mean you’re a Casanova.”

Lance grinned, squeezing his arm a bit before letting it go as they made it to Allura. “So we’re agreed, then?” Keith’s jaw dropped in indignance. Was Lance really going to be that childish?

“Put your bags down and start stretching,” Allura directed before Keith got the chance to reply to Lance.

Keith dropped his bag onto the floor and sat next to it, starting a butterfly stretch. He heard his phone buzz in his bag, and he stopped for a moment to reach in and answer it.

[ **NEW TEXT: Mom** ]

_Ugh_ . Keith swiped it unlocked and opened the message.

[ **Mom:** Keith! We see you :D]

[ **Keith:** ???]

[ **Mom:** Dad and I are in the stands! We came to watch you compete again!]

[ **Mom:** Look up :D]

Keith obliged, sitting up and scanning the stands for his parents. The competition was taking place on the thawed ice of a local hockey rink, so he figured it might be next to impossible to find them in its positively packed bleachers. He was about to look back to his phone and type that up, but a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye suddenly caught his attention. He followed it to find his mom and dad, standing up across the way and waving their arms frantically, huge grins stretching their faces. He waved an acknowledgement to them and the movements got more jubilant. Suddenly, they both threw their arms up to form Vs, and he distinctly heard “Go VGA!” in his father’s booming voice. Keith slapped a hand over his eyes in shame.

“Parents came to watch you compete?” Keith looked up when Lance spoke across from him, leaning onto his front leg in his side split to fix Keith with an inquisitive look.

“Uh… yeah,” Keith muttered, moving to stretch his straddle, reaching forward and trying to get his stomach flat onto the floor.

“You lucky bastard.” Lance smiled. “What I wouldn’t give, you know?” Keith’s phone buzzed again, and he pulled it back in front of his eyes.

[ **Mom:** Where’s Shiro? He said he’d be here]

[ **Mom:** Is that Lance? He looks so grown up! Tell him we say hi!]

Keith furrowed his brow.  _What did she mean Shiro said he’d be there? Didn’t he have faith that Keith could do this without him?_ “If you want ‘em, you can have ‘em.” He tossed his phone over his shoulder and resumed stretching, hoping it landed somewhere in his open bag. “They say hi, by the way.”

Lance grinned. “Aw really? That’s so sweet!” He sat up, looking back to the crowd and spotting them. He mimicked their V gesture and shouted “Go VGA!” right back at them, forcing Keith to cover his ears.

“God, you’re so embarrassing. I can’t believe I have to be seen in public with you.” He moved out of his straddle and started stretching his wrists.

“Keith, do me a favor and try lightening up a bit.” Lance laughed. “You’re almost as tight-laced as Hunk today.” He pointed his chin over Keith’s shoulder and Keith followed the gesture to see Allura calming Hunk down, hands on his trembling shoulders as she spoke soothingly but firmly. “Shouldn’t you be over the moon right now? After today, you never have to step foot in the gym again. You should be jumping for joy, or doing cartwheels, or… actually no, scratch that.” Keith looked back to Lance, who tapped his chin and looked up pensively. “What would you do if you were happy but you hated gymnastics and smiling and anything fun? Hm…”

“Stop being a dick, Lance.”

“Don’t deny me my birthright!” Lance laughed again, and Keith couldn’t help but smile, shaking his head.

“Ah, so he _can_ smile!” Lance got to his feet and kicked up to a handstand, shifting a few times on his hands until he found his balance. “Stop the presses, Keith Kogane just smiled in a gym. Tell me, is it painful?”

“Excruciating.” Keith chuckled.

“ _All athletes, please report to the main hall for march in._ ” Sounded over the PA system, all of them looking up to the gentle voice of the announcer. Lance stepped down from his handstand, standing over Keith now.

Keith sighed, moving to stand next to him. “Well, here goes.”

“You nervous?” Lance asked, this time sounding a bit more genuine.

“You wish,” Keith replied, furrowing his brow in resolve as he looked out to the floor.

* * *

 

The first half of the competition went surprisingly well, if Keith was being honest. He might not have been training for very long in his comeback, but he had a natural ability and style the judges seemed to eat up. He easily scored above 14.8 on each of his first three apparatuses, even managing a 15.3 on rings. Currently, they stood in front of the judge’s table at vault, waiting to be let free for their warm-up touch. Keith noticed that Hunk was practically vibrating through his nerves in his peripheral vision. Rolling his eyes, he turned over to address him.

“Hey, Hunk.” He prodded Hunk’s shoulder with a finger, giving the boy a small start before he acknowledged him.

“Oh hey, what’s up?” Hunk tried to put on a smile, but Keith could tell the anxiety was overwhelming him.

“Look, about what I said in the car before, I…” Keith bit his lip, glancing quickly over Hunk’s shoulder to make sure Lance couldn’t hear. “I lied. I do get nervous at competition.”

Hunk’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

Keith nodded. “But you wouldn’t know it, right?” He gave Hunk his best attempt at an encouraging smile. “Here’s my secret: when you get nervous, you start to get cautious. You pull back, because you’re afraid you’re going to push too hard and fly off. But what you have to do is channel that fear into energy. Your body tells you to pull back, and you push twice as much. If you eat mat, you eat mat hard. Don’t play it safe.”

“Don’t play it safe,” Hunk echoed. “Okay, I got it.” For the first time since they left the house, Hunk looked confident, giving Keith a crooked grin. “Thanks, Keith. You’re a good friend, you know?” Keith returned his grin, and they took off to the other end of the runway with the rest of the group at the judge’s dismissal.

* * *

 

“Okay, so remember: strong arms on the horse, be more patient with your twisting, and don’t try to work for that stick. Take the hop forward,” Allura instructed, giving him a firm squeeze over the shoulder before she walked away. Keith nodded, then stepped up to the side of the runway, closing his eyes and imagining the vault. He went through the motions of the vault as he visualised it, pulling his arms in to mock the twist and finishing it off with a stick and a hop forward, just as Allura instructed.

He took a deep breath, shaking his knees out as he watched the judge’s table for his green flag. The head judge raised it, and he lifted his arm in salute to them, hearing a few jeers in the crowd as the emcee announced his turn. Stepping onto the carpeted runway, he looked down to double-check his mark. Taking one more steadying breath, he stood on his toes, leaned forward, and ran. He kept his eyes up on the horse, watching it barrel towards him and running faster still. He hurdled, putting his hands down on the roundoff, slamming his feet into the board and reaching up over his right shoulder to twist halfway onto the horse. He had a great angle, he could feel it. He pushed the horse into the floor, flying off and waiting to spot his first half twist before pulling around and completing another twist and a half, landing blind. He took the smallest of hops forward, miffed that he didn’t stick it, but not regretting playing it safe and not falling on his ass. He turned to the judges, giving them a small bow to signal the end of his performance. There were a few scattered claps, and among them a handful of passionate cheers, coming from his parents and teammates, obviously. Keith smiled as he walked back to his team, Allura giving an appraising nod as she clapped daintily.

“Nice job, Keith.” Lance stood and clapped him on the back before going up onto the podium for his turn. “But let me show you how to stick it,” he taunted, and Allura followed him up onto the podium, already talking him through his vaults.

Keith dropped down onto his chair, taking a gulp from his water bottle before he looked up at the judge’s table to note his score. 14.9, not too bad. It would be enough to keep him on the podium, where he sat in second behind Lance after last rotation. He looked back at the current leader, who was still getting his pep talk from Allura. Lance kept his eyes focused on a singular point in space while she spoke, grabbing his one knee and pulling it up to his shoulder as he tried to visualise his own vault, much as Keith had just done.

Allura came down from the podium, walking over to where Hunk stood a few feet away from the chairs, preparing for his own vault. Keith watched as Lance saluted, clapping his hands a few times and leaning forward to watch.

“Let’s go, Lance!” He called out, though he was sure Lance wouldn’t hear it under the overwhelmingly ecstatic reaction of the audience. National Team Members get that kind of celebrity status, Keith supposed. Especially when it’s a guy from a local gym.

Lance took off, speeding up at an inhuman rate as he barrelled towards the vault. Jumping onto the beat board, he slammed his palms into the horse, shaking the apparatus under his force, and lifted straight up into the air. Lance could perform one of the most technically flawless Dragulescus that Keith had ever seen. Whereas everyone else had flexed feet and a huge cowboy, Lance kept his legs pasted together in the double front, an elegant toe point held up until the landing. He kicked out and leaned into the final half-twist, opening up to see the floor and plant his feet in a stick, not moving an inch. The crowd erupted, and Keith momentarily felt sorry for any poor bastard that had to compete at the same time that Lance McClain stuck a near-perfect Dragulescu. Lance clapped his hands together, pumping his fist up once in jubilation before bowing to the judges. He practically strutted down to the other end of the runway, Allura climbing up the side of the podium to meet him and give instructions for his second vault.

“Yeah, that’s my boy!” Hunk cheered as Lance passed him, and Lance stuck out his tongue, giving Hunk hook-‘em-horns with both hands. Keith leaned back into his chair, folding his arms against his chest and shaking his head at the display, but smirking nonetheless.

Lance rolled out his neck as Allura gave him a few quick pointers before running down to the other end to fix the springboard. The mark for his first vault flashed atop the scoreboard, a 15.3. The crowd erupted into another cheer as he saluted once more to the judge’s table, giving a sharp exhale before taking off. He hit the horse with a half-turn this time, exploding off and completing a layout triple twist in his post-flight. He landed with his shoulders a bit forward, taking a sizeable step in front to regain balance before turning to bow his head to the judges. The crowd burst into uproarious applause regardless. He gave an accepting shrug to Allura, who held out her hand for a high-five that he reciprocated, before she turned off to set up for Hunk’s turn.

Hunk stepped past Keith to walk up onto the podium, and Keith flashed him what he hoped was an encouraging  smile , holding two thumbs up. Hunk grinned and returned the gesture, before turning around and going through his own preparations at the starting mark.

“Let’s go, Hunk!” Lance cheered through cupped hands as he plopped down on the chair next to Keith. He was breathing hard but wore a smile. He leaned down to grab a drink from his water.

“So where was that stick you promised me?” Keith teased, keeping his eyes on the scoreboard, and away from a flushed and tired Lance.

“In the first vault,” Lance scoffed, his breath already starting to even out as he wiped excess water from his bottom lip, “you didn’t see?”

Keith shrugged, tilting his head to the side with the action for extra emphasis. “From the way you were talking yourself up, I thought you were going to stick them both, is all.” He smirked, hoping Lance would pick up on the challenge.

Lance stood in his peripheral vision, changing from his shorts to pants in preparation for the next rotation. “Always got to leave ‘em wanting more, Keith. But don’t you worry, I’ll stick them both for you at Championships.” Keith turned to give Lance a derisive look, raising an eyebrow in question, but Lance just winked at him. Keith’s stomach tightened. Was that supposed to be friendly? Flirty? Or was he just weak to his wishful thinking yet again? He shook his head, reaching down in his bag to follow Lance’s lead and change uniform for parallel bars. Whatever it was wouldn’t matter in two more rotations.

Lance’s score flashed up on the board, and Keith, who had briefly moved into first place after his vault, was pushed back into second because of it, Lance leading him by over a point. Keith gave a momentary pout—not that he cared about his ranking, but because it was always sour to lose, to Lance no less—but it dropped off his face immediately when the announcer called for Hunk’s turn. They both sat back down once changed to watch.

“ _Now on vault, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Hunk Garrett_.”

“Come on, Hunk!” Lance cheered loud enough to make Keith flinch, practically bouncing in his chair. A moment after the applause had died down, Hunk took off down the runway. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Lance clapped his hands as he leaned forward progressively with Hunk’s run, ending up bent halfway over.

Keith tilted his chin up to look over Lance blocking his view, getting back his sightline just as Hunk jumped on the board. His hands slammed down with such energy that Keith thought for a moment the vault had shattered, judging by the sound it made, but it thankfully stayed intact. Hunk lifted straight off the horse, pulling in for his double front. The entire arena seemed to hold its collective breath at the amplitude Hunk managed to get, flying literal heads above his competition.

But that’s when it all went wrong. Getting upright off his first tuck, his shoulders started to twist. Keith’s eyes went wide.  _What the fuck does he think he’s doing?_ His body started to open out as he bailed, hands letting go of his legs and losing his tucked position as he automatically prepared to crash. Keith’s hands flew up to grip his hair, fingernails scratching against his scalp as he didn’t dare to look away. Hunk made it over inversion in the second salto, coming down bodily against the mat, landing face down on his hands and knees as the whole building seemed to gasp in unison. Momentarily, the arena went dead silent, waiting to see if he would get back up. The crowd sighed in relief when he did, pushing up onto his feet and bowing his salute to the judges. Allura immediately ran over from her spot next to the table, checking to see if he was okay.

“What,” Lance breathed, “the _hell_ was that?”

“What landed first, was it his feet?” Keith’s asked frantically. They couldn’t score him a zero if his feet touched first.

Lance looked back to him, face reflecting the same shock that Keith felt. “I-I think so? I didn’t see.” He furrowed his brow. “Why did he go for the Drag? He’s never done that,” he muttered.

Keith’s throat was dry, his tongue heavy. He swallowed. Did he just wreck Hunk’s scholarship chances? There’s no recovering from a zero in the all around competition. No chance to go to Nationals. No chance to get noticed by university scouts. “Maybe he got confused? Went for the wrong skill by accident? It happens.” Keith shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He knew exactly why Hunk went for the Drag. Dammit, he told Hunk not to play it safe, but he never told him to go for a vault he’d only half-learned!

Lance shook his head. “No Keith, he  _never_ does this. Hunk doesn’t get confused, he doesn’t go for new skills like this, he doesn’t…” Lance trailed off, looking down at his own hands in frustration, like this could have somehow been his fault. Keith spotted Hunk and Allura walking back from vault, Hunk worrying at his bottom lip and Allura with a hand on his back, expression unreadable.

“It’s okay, Hunk,” Keith offered as they came within earshot, guilt firing up anew as he saw the disappointment in Hunk’s face. “That vault was insane, who cares if you didn’t land it?”

Lance snapped his head up to fix Keith with an annoyed look. “Uh, the judges?”

“Keith,” Allura spoke up, interrupting their exchange, “a word.” She grabbed his arm and kept walking, not slowing down or changing trajectory, pulling him off towards the entrance.

Her hand gripped him hard, and her pace was aggressive. Hunk must’ve said something to her. Keith knew he was in deep shit. He swallowed and held his tongue, allowing her to pull him over despite his instincts to yank his arm back. She stopped right next to the entrance doors, by the wall and away from the rest of the participants, whipping around to face him and fixing him with a furious look.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She hissed, hand still gripping on his arm.

Keith went on the defensive. “Just what we agreed to, I’m competing what I practiced and—”

“This isn’t about that,” she interrupted. “I don’t know what you told Hunk, and I don’t care. You’re not here to coach him. You’re here to place top three, win money, and get out.”

“Wh—I wasn’t—”

“This isn’t just about you, Keith,” she spoke over him once more, keeping her voice low but sharpening her tone. “You do your job, and let me do mine.” She let go of his arm, spun on her heel and paced away, not awaiting his response.

He watched her go, rubbing his temples and cursing his idiocy. Why the hell did he think he’d be able to help Hunk? Keith was never any good at helping people, and he’d hardly known Hunk for two months. He should’ve just kept his damn mouth shut. “Great work, Keith. Add another fuckup to the list,” he muttered to himself.

He practically jumped out of his skin when he felt a strong hand clap against his back. “Keith, it’s been a while,” a gruff voice spoke from his side, the hand sliding up and settling against his shoulder as its owner rounded to face him.

Keith practically snarled, dropping his hands from his face and folding his arms over his chest. “Iverson,” he acknowledged through his teeth, eyes settling on the toothy grin the burly man fixed him with. It made his shoulders tighten and his skin crawl, and he fought to keep his expression steely.

“Hey, hey,” Iverson chuckled, “what’s with the hostility? I come in peace.” His good eye narrowed and his expression shifted to one that Keith could only describe as sinister. “I heard you were comin’ out of retirement, but this?” He nodded in the general direction of the competition, then continued. “I didn’t think you were serious about it.”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Dead serious. You of all people should’ve been able to see that coming.”

Iverson grinned, making Keith sneer in turn. “You know what they say, let sleeping dogs lie. That’s why I want to give you a second chance.”

“Second chance?” Keith scoffed. “I was done with you the day I walked out of Worlds.”

“Say whatever helps your ego, Keith, but I know better. Your parents were practically begging me to coach you again two months ago, but I didn’t think you were going to commit. My mistake, so I’ll make it easy on you. My doors are open, and you start on Monday. There’s not much time left before Nationals, you know.”

_Begging? My parents? I thought Shiro said that gymnastics was his idea. And in any case, why the hell would they go back to Iverson, of all people?_ “I’ll pass.” He tried to brush off Iverson’s hand and walk away, but Iverson suddenly gripped both of his shoulders, yanking him back. Keith’s eyes flew wide at the near-violent gesture.

“Now you listen, Keith, and you listen good.” Iverson had dropped the friendly pretense, and Keith caught a glimpse of the rage he’d experienced from Iverson before. He swallowed, reminding himself that he was in a public place, with hundreds of spectators looking on. Iverson never blew up at a competition. It didn’t look good on the gym. _Keith, you’re safe_ , he repeated internally, like a mantra. “I developed you into the gymnast you are today, and you _will_ show me respect.” He hissed, upper lip pulled back in a snarl.

Keith narrowed his eyes in his own attempt at intimidation. “I don’t respect people who don’t respect me.”

“Without me you’d be a nobody, Keith. I built you. I made you great. No other coach could ever be as patient with you as I am.” His tone stopped escalating, but stayed at an intimidating growl nonetheless. “You think Allura could’ve taken you to the National Team? To Worlds? She’s a kid, she doesn’t know a damn thing about producing champions.”

“ _All athletes, please proceed to your next rotation_.”

Keith shoved his hands off, walking away. “I have to compete.”

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Iverson called out, putting on a friendly tone now that he knew people could hear him.

Keith bit his lip, begging his mind to stop spinning as he picked his pace to catch up to the rest of the athletes getting set for parallel bars. He’d take care of this later. Right now, he had to focus on competing. He hurried up onto the podium to stand in front of the judge’s table, settling beside Lance at the near end of the line. Lance glanced in his direction, looking sincerely pissed at his arrival.

Keith gave him a confused frown. “What?” he whispered, quickly glancing at Lance before turning back to watch the judges.

Lance huffed, not bothering to look back to him anymore. “Look, you want to win the purse, I get it. You didn’t have to bring Hunk into this.”

“Wait, what?” He repeated. _Is that what they thought this was about_?

“Athletes, you may begin your warm-up.” The head judge called out.

Lance turned to walk off. “I hope he ate mat hard enough for you.” He bumped shoulders with Keith, causing him to stumble back a step. Allura walked past next, expression unmoving as she watched Keith. Hunk followed her, desperately avoiding eye contact.

* * *

 

The announcement of Keith’s turn was met with less than half the cheers of his prior routines. Keith wondered for a second if any of the three from VGA were even planning to watch his routine. Maybe they would, and were rooting for a fall. If Keith was being honest, he deserved that at the very least. He lifted his arms in a present, pushing those thoughts out as he grabbed the bars and jumped off, pressing his forearms parallel to each bar and kicking back to handstand. He planched down to swing through his Diamidov, ending it on one bar before connecting it to a Healy, swinging back to handstand facing opposite the way he started.

His mind went back to what had just happened with Iverson. Keith had felt on the edge of a meltdown ever since he’d walked away from it, the exchange grating against his already heightened nerves. How dare Iverson walk up and grab Keith like that, after what he did? How dare he talk like he had somehow done Keith a favour back at Worlds? Like Keith played no part in his own achievements. Like he had been some damn charity case, a poor foster kid with the potential for greatness, some diamond in the rough for Iverson to wear around town and show off.

And his offer? Keith should have known that if Iverson was there, his parents weren’t too far back. Why the hell would they want to do that to him? They knew that it was Iverson’s actions, as well as their own, that had pushed Keith to quit in the first place. Why the fuck would they want to make him go back after what Iverson did to hurt him, to hurt all of them?

_Fucking focus, Keith. You’re competing._

He swung down to a one-arm Healy, connecting it to a basket-1/2, ending where he’d started the routine. He dropped down in a giant, then swung his legs aggressively and pushed off into a piked Belle, flipping twice before landing hard but cleanly on his biceps. He kicked back up and settled into another handstand.

Did this mean that Shiro had lied to him? He’d said that this return was his idea, hadn’t he? Shiro of all people should’ve known that Keith would not go back to Iverson. Or did he mean that it was only VGA that was his idea? Did his mom and dad beg him to let Keith train there like they did to Iverson? Or was he the one that begged Allura? Dammit, if only he could be there to help Keith make sense of this shit. He should’ve listened to Shiro after all, and let him come to the competition. If he had, none of this would be happening. Keith wouldn’t have fucked up Hunk’s vault. Allura wouldn’t have pulled him over to be scolded, and Iverson wouldn’t have approached him at all. Lance wouldn’t hate Keith. They’d be talking, maybe even laughing, like they had when they’d watched that stupid shitty movie. Keith would win the money, and he’d walk out of all of their lives, no longer a burden to any of them.

Keith gripped the bar harder and gritted his teeth, feeling the frustration swell in his chest and trying to will himself not to start crying. He lowered himself to his forearms, then kicked into his Harada, flipping into the Arabian before catching the bar on his arms. He landed that one okay too, uprising back into the handstand.

_Okay, only three more releases and the dismount. Just hang on, and keep breathing, it’s almost over._

He’d fucked up. He’d royally fucked up. Keith was an idiot for ever believing he could be a part of Voltron. He’d never worked well with others, which was why gymnastics was always the perfect sport for him: no teammates to rely on, and no one except yourself to disappoint. But for some stupid reason, he thought this time could be different. He thought he could pretend that he meant something to his roommates, or his coaches, or his family, even if it was just until he won back his restitution. He could pretend like he had something to contribute, a way to encourage and support his friends and have it make a difference for the better. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t, and he knew that now. Now he knew that everyone hated him, and justifiably so.

_Breathe, breathe. Don’t cry. Keep breathing. Just don’t think about it._

He really didn’t want to leave it like this. Lance wouldn’t even look his way during the warm-up, and hadn’t so much as acknowledged Keith when he’d come down from his spectacular routine and they’d switched places. Lance had been ready to defend Keith before, jumping into action as soon as he’d sensed trouble at the registration desk. He didn’t have to do that at all. He could’ve let Keith blow his cool and get disqualified. But he’d wanted to defend Keith, and at this point Keith realised that it didn’t matter if Lance did it for himself or for Keith because dammit it showed that Keith meant  _something_ to him. Not something as a lover, maybe not even as a friend, or a teammate, but something.

He dropped down into his Dimitrenko, pulling his knees into his tuck and flipping twice, then swinging his legs up as he landed and kicking back to handstand. He started his half-pirouette, getting one hand over in the turn before his feet started to pitch over the side.  _Shit_ .  _Stay on, stay on, stay on_ , he chanted internally, gritting his teeth and pushing his fingertips into the bar with all his might, but he was too far over. He twisted out of his handstand as he dropped to his feet on the floor, taking a shuddering breath as the disappointment hit him like a freight train, and his emotional dam burst.

Keith hated crying in front of other people. He figured no one liked it, but he absolutely could not stand it. It frustrated him to let people see him weakened. It wasn’t any of their business what the hell Keith was going through. And yet here he was in front of hundreds, probably thousands on the livestream, wiping at the tears running down his flushed face as he hung his head and trudged aside to rechalk his hands. His shoulders twitched with every hiccough, and he chewed on his quavering lip to try and control his erratic breathing, to little success. He reached his hands into the chalk bin, glancing up and catching Lance watching him.

He didn’t know why that had surprised him, he figured everyone in attendance had been looking now to see the Great and Terrible Keith Kogane fall and blubber like a baby. Nonetheless, it had. He sucked in a sharp breath as he studied Lance’s face. Some anger was still left over in his expression, but it had been taken over by some sort of silent awe, a shock at what had just transpired, as though he hadn’t imagined the possibility of Keith being fallible, being human. To Keith’s surprise, he didn’t look away, a stark contrast with his earlier behaviour. Keith didn’t either, feeling frozen under his gaze. A ten-second warning to remount, in the form of a sharp bell from the judge’s table, sounded for Keith, and he forced himself to tear his eyes off of Lance. He felt the intensity of Lance’s eyes on the back of his head, and didn’t even bother to try ignoring it.

He sniffed, lining himself up onto the near end of the apparatus, then taking a running start to catch the middle of the bars as he tried to start back in his routine. He kipped up to handstand, immediately swinging himself back down to his giant-swing Arabian. He landed that one low on the bar, struggling to get his hands back on to support and losing the swing he was supposed to carry into another release. He cursed, kicking back into the handstand, then pausing for a moment as he tried to decide if he should go for the release, or just cut his losses and dismount. He shifted on his hands uncertainly before making his decision, kicking over the side of one bar and doing a simple layout to get off the apparatus. He didn’t even care about the deduction he’d get for missing a proper dismount. He wasn’t doing this anymore. He was done. He didn’t even bother to turn to the judges before he stepped off the mat, hopping down off the podium and keeping his head low. Allura walked over to pat him on the back, the gesture cold but sympathetic, as she passed him to climb up and prepare the bars with Hunk. Keith kept his eyes down as he reached his bag, two chairs down from Lance.

“It’s fine,” he heard Lance try to comfort him, his voice still gruff and distant. “You’ll just pull it back together on high bar. You always do.” That final remark seemed tinged with a bit of disdain. Keith didn’t answer. He pulled on his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and hoisted his bag’s strap over his shoulder, turning on his heel to walk briskly towards the exit. “Hey— _hey_!” Lance shouted back to him. Keith didn’t turn back. “Where are you going?” 

He heard Lance’s chair scrape on the floor as he stood to follow him. Keith quickened his pace until he passed the threshold of the exit doors and entered the main hall. Lance then managed to catch his wrist, keeping him from going any further. Keith stopped, whipping around and fixing him with a glare, eyes still raw and tears threatening to spill anew.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Keith?” Lance looked livid. “Don’t bail again. Go back in there and finish the damn competition. Don’t make this another Worlds!”

Keith’s eyes went wide in fury, pulling out of Lance’s grip. “You don’t know the first thing about Worlds, Lance.” His voice came out a lot weaker than he’d hoped, thanks to his crying.

“I’m not going to let you walk out and abandon Allura like this!” He gestured aggressively with his arms, shouting with his whole body. “Do you know how much work she put into you? How much of a risk she took bringing you in? You owe it to us to finish the meet.”

“I don’t owe anyone shit, Lance. I can do whatever the hell I want to do, and I want to leave!” Keith’s voice trembled as its volume rose, fists curling at his sides.

“Yeah, okay, fine Keith. Leave,” Lance spat. “Leave Allura, leave all of us, and leave VGA, see if we give a shit! You know, I thought you might be cool, but I guess I was wrong. I wish you’d never come to Voltron in the first place. All you’ve done is cause problems for everyone since you joined. Hunk could’ve lost his shot at Nationals today because of you. Fuck, he could’ve gotten _hurt_ because of you!”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to make him fuck up!” Keith defended. Tears started falling again, his breath becoming shaky. “I didn’t think he’d… he’d—”

“Yeah, you didn’t,” Lance interrupted. “Because all you do is think about yourself. You didn’t have to sabotage his chances, Keith. He wasn’t a threat to you.”

“I didn’t mean to—!” His response was cut short by a hiccough that seized his lungs.

“This is about Iverson, isn’t it?” Lance snarled, leaning into Keith’s face. Keith’s breath caught at the name. “I saw you talking to him after vault. What, you want to go back to him now? Were we not good enough for you?”

Keith felt himself tremble in outrage, shoving Lance back with both hands. “You think I want to go back to  _Iverson_ ?” He shouted.

Lance threw his hands out to the side in exasperation. “Well, you obviously liked it there a hell of a lot more than you like it here! You can’t stand not being his favorite, anymore, is that it? Allura doesn’t love you the way he did.”

“Love me?” Keith’s throat ached from shouting, but his volume only continued to rise. “Iverson never loved me, Lance. He used me for the glory, he didn’t give a shit about me as a person!”

Lance raised his voice in response. “Oh don’t pretend like  _you’re_ the fucking victim here. He made you one of the greatest in the world, and you act like he fucking betrayed you.”

“He did fucking betray me!”

“How, by handing you a world championship?”

“How about by keeping the fact that everyone thought my brother had died from me?” That had stunned Lance into silence, his eyes going wide, and Keith used it to continue to spit out his rage. “How about lying to me for weeks about where he was, and why he wasn’t there for me. How about telling me that he’d make it to Worlds just as an insurance policy for me to win him his fucking gold medal?”

Lance furrowed his brow in confusion, opening his mouth to talk, but taking a few moments to find his words. “Keith, what are you talking about? What happened?” His voice had steadied drastically.

Keith ran his hands through his hair, failing to calm himself, before he continued. “About a month before Worlds, Shiro went to South America for some charity thing, and his return plane crashed in flight. Their comms were shot, so no one heard from them. They were all presumed dead.” Keith looked down at the floor and grabbed at his arms, kneading hard circles into the flesh to try and hold back a new wave of tears threatening to breach. “My parents wanted to tell me, but Iverson convinced them not to. They lied to me for over a month, telling me Shiro was just held up, that he was coming back.” His breaths came as a hiss through his teeth, and he forced himself to unclench his jaw to rid himself of the auditory reminder of his currently pathetic state.

Lance took a half-step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Maybe they just… he didn’t want you to be distracted from the team…” he suggested.

Keith snapped his head up to glare at him. “He had a month to let the alternate know and fill in for me. But he couldn’t do that, because the alternate wasn’t an Iverson boy,” Keith snarled.

Lance gave him a sad look. “Keith, you’d worked your whole life for it. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, who knows—”

“No, fuck that,” Keith spat, his voice losing the last bit of balance it had left as he wept openly, “my brother was fucking dead, a-and no one bothered to tell me shit!” He wiped the tears from his cheeks and took a few shuddering breaths to steady himself before continuing. “Have you ever lost a sibling, Lance?” Lance bit his lip, shaking his head. “So then don’t fucking tell me how I should feel, or how I should’ve acted. There are bigger things in this world than gymnastics.”

“So that’s why you walked out,” he murmured. Lance wasn’t asking, he was answering his own question.

Keith nodded nonetheless. “As soon as my dad let it slip. I couldn’t let Iverson win. He wasn’t going to get that glory after what he did to me.”

Lance cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his neck in a quick moment of silence. “So is that why Shiro… you know…” he made a vague gesture to his own right forearm.

“Oh my god, Lance!” He exclaimed, exasperated. “ _That’s_ what you took from all of that?!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He yelped. “I just—Keith, I-I didn’t know,” he stuttered sympathetically. He reached out and put a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder, but Keith shrugged it away, stepping back.

“You didn’t have to.” His voice was cold, his emotions having wrung him out. Unable to look at Lance anymore, he bore his gaze into the wall next to them.

“ _Athletes, please proceed to your final rotation_ ,” they heard over the announcements. Keith managed to spare a glance back at him then, to say one last thing to Lance before he walked away forever.

“You should go.” He turned to the front doors and left without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time, this was a really scary chapter for me to tackle. I’d never really written anything so emotionally charged before, and it took me a few days to build up the nerve to write it (keep in mind that at the time I was writing almost 5k a day most of the time so like I went from writing that to writing nothing just because I needed to psych myself up for it). I really hope that emotion got conveyed well in this chapter, and that y’all enjoyed th@ sweet angst as much as I did.  
> Also I feel bad 4 Keith in this chap because like y’all ever try to do gym when ur cryin??? Ya get boogies everywhere if ur not careful and then u gotta clean it up. That shit’s nast.  
> As always, if you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!
> 
> [Yurchenko 1/2 on double full](https://youtu.be/yPVnIYtj3_U?t=6) (Keith's vault)  
> [ Keith's parallel bar routine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLg-s0qzhlg/)


	11. From Black Robes to Blue Blazers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith goes back to the judge in the hopes he can stay out of prison, and they give him surprising news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I resisted the urge to put “by Fall Out Boy” at the end of this chapter title. Although I obviously didn’t resist well enough since I’m telling you guys that anyway right here in the notes. Yeah.

Keith wrung his hands as he stood before the door of the Honorable Judge Matheson, running his eyes across the lines of the weaving grain in the wooden door as he build up the nerve to knock. He’d practiced what he’d tell the judge with his parents last night, after they’d picked him up from the competition. There had been a lot of hugging, a lot of crying, a bunch of apologies from all three of them, and altogether enough emotional bullshit to last Keith another two years, before they decided what he was going to do.

_Military Academy had to be better than prison_ , Keith reasoned.  _And certainly less catastrophic than gym had proven to be_ . He rolled out his neck, set his jaw, and gave the door a firm knock.

“It’s open,” the judge called from the other side. Keith bit his lip, hesitating a moment before twisting the knob and opening it. He peeked his head through, a silent request to be invited in. “Ah, Keith.” They addressed him with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon. I have news, though. Come, sit.” They gestured to the chair that sat in front of the massive desk covered in papers. Keith obliged.

“News?” He asked. They nodded sagely, smile still gracing their lips.

“I’d like you to read something for me.” They leaned over to hand him a paper, folded in three. “Second paragraph, out loud, please.”

Keith took the paper and examined it, seeing that it was a printed email addressed to the judge. The subject? RE: Keith Kogane. The sender? aaltea@voltronga.com. Keith felt his heart leap up into his throat.

They leaned forward, raising their eyebrows expectantly. “Well, go on,” they prompted.

“Uh,” Keith mumbled, trying to find his starting point. “The gymnastics world, like the real world, can be a very unforgiving place. As I know all too well, there might be too much chalk on the blackboard for him to get a clean slate competing with me or anyone else, and Keith has earned the right to a clean slate.” He looked up to the judge apprehensively, and they motioned their hand for him to continue. “He’s quite capable of deciding what’s best for him, and I encourage the court to include his perspective in its decision. Respectfully, Allura Altea…” He trailed off at the end of the email. _What were they saying? Did this mean..?_

“That’s all, Keith.” They took the letter back, setting it down on their desk and steepling their fingers. “You’re free to go.”

“Wh-free? As in, _free_ free?” They nodded. “Well, what about the restitution?”

They waved a hand dismissively. “It’s been paid off, taken care of for you.”

Keith’s mouth opened to reply, but it took a while for him to find the words. “I, uh… I don’t know what to say.” He thought he’d be sent off to the military, or  _prison_ , not let go. “So… what do I do?” No more restitution? Just like that? The whiplash between his expectations walking in and the reality he sat in now was too much to process in the moment.

“You want to know what I think, Keith?” He nodded dumbly, figuring any advice would be welcome right about now. “I think you should listen to your heart, for once.” They added that last commentary with a chuckle. “So go back. Be _good_.” They leaned forward over the desk, shrugging benevolently. “It sounds to me like you’re built for it.”

He stood slowly, nodding his head. “Thank you.” He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling a bit bashful. “I’ll think about it.”

“You know Keith, not all of us took the conventional road to success.” They gave him a knowing look, winking. “You and me, we have to stick together.” Keith finally cracked a smile, nodding his comprehension before he turned to walk out.

* * *

 

Allura and Shiro stood at the trampoline, backs turned to the rest of the gym as they waited for the elites to return from warming up. They hunched over, tramp frame acting as a table for Allura’s clipboard, as they engaged in a focused discussion. Neither of them noticed when Keith entered, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked up behind them.

“I’m shocked that you managed to get through a whole letter without mentioning the word ‘discipline.’” Keith joked once he got within earshot, Allura and Shiro twisting around to look at him, both of them wearing expressions that looked almost guilty, like two middle-schoolers caught passing notes in class. Keith fought the urge to roll his eyes at how obvious they could be.

They both relaxed after a moment, smiling warmly. Allura folded her arms across her chest as she replied. “It was difficult, I assure you.”

Keith shifted on his feet. “Look, I want to say sorry. And thanks, I guess.”

Allura shook her head. “No need, Lance told me everything.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “Lance?”

She nodded. “Not that I hadn’t figured out quite a bit before, Keith. I’m a lot smarter than you give me credit for. He just filled in a few gaps.”

“So… he told you the story?” Keith frowned. Lance had been an asshole, but Keith thought he’d have the basic decency not to tell anyone about the shit Keith had gone through.

“Not at first,” she laughed. “He really did try to keep it a secret, but he’s far too easy to crack.”

_Okay, so Lance is downgraded from major asshole to just regular asshole again_ . “Well, I mean the restitution, you didn’t have to do that.” 

Shiro spoke up then, smiling warmly as he leaned into the trampoline. “Actually, the restitution was Lance’s idea as well.”

Keith’s eyes went wide. “Wait,  _Lance_ paid for my restitution?”

“Well, $200 of it.” Allura tilted her head to the side in a shrug. “He says he’ll be paying me back for the rest, although everyone at VGA knows that when you lend money to Lance, it’s as good as gone.” She chuckled, acting so casual about paying literal thousands of dollars in unexpected expenses.

“Why?” Keith asked, too late to stop himself from vocalising his thoughts. Why had Lance done that? Keith had blown up at him at the Classic, cursing him a thousand times over, and Lance takes a cut from his prize money to pay for Keith’s restitution? It didn’t make sense. Lance should’ve hated him after that, not tried to help him!

Allura chuckled. “I thought I outlined my reasons well enough in the letter I wrote.” Keith bit his tongue before he could correct her misunderstanding. He’d dodged a bullet there, best not to shoot himself in the foot.

“KEEEEEEITH!” They spun around at the sudden interruption, seeing Pidge charging towards him from the outside door, grinning madly with her arms reaching out for him. She bounded across the floor quickly, tackling him in a fierce hug, and he chuckled as it sent him stumbling back a step. 

“Good to see you too, Pidge.” He smiled warmly, returning the hug.

“I thought you’d left for good.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his t-shirt.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He looked up and saw Hunk following her action as he barrelled across the floor to catch up to her. Keith’s eyes went wide in panic as he hoped Hunk wouldn’t tackle him in a similar manner.

“You’re back!” Hunk cried as he scooped the two of them up in a hug of his own. Keith felt the ground fall out from under him as Hunk’s massive arms squeezed him, crushing Pidge against his chest.

“Hunk, you’re squishing me!” Pidge protested, kicking her legs as she struggled to breathe.

“I’m just…” Hunk’s voice cracked as he was overcome with emotion, “I’m s-so happy…”

“Hey Hunk?” Keith asked, trying his best to look up to Hunk’s eyes, himself being squished against the boy’s racing heart. “I’m sorry about the competition, by the way.”

Hunk swung them from side to side, relishing the embrace. “Don’t worry about it, you were only trying to help. Just promise me one thing.”

“Yeah, go for it.”

“Never try to help me again.” He laughed, and Keith joined him.

“Deal.”

“Okay, okay, put him down, Hunk.” Lance’s voice floated over from across the gym. Hunk obliged, and Pidge gasped dramatically for breath once they were both set down. Keith tried to look around Hunk, who mercifully stepped to the side to reveal the speaker. Lance strutted over, hands folded across his bare chest, and he wore a devilish smirk. “We still need him in one piece.” He kept his eyes on Keith the whole time, and Keith would be lying if he said the attention didn’t take his breath away.

“Lance,” he breathed, feeling tension release from his shoulders because Lance was talking to him again—was _smiling_ at him again. He wanted to thank him for what he did, with the letter, with the restitution, with everything. “You, ah… you ever going to learn to keep a secret?” He chuckled awkwardly. “Or does the whole gym know my sob story by now?”

Lance’s jaw dropped as his hands flew up to his heart, stopping in front of Keith once he’d traversed the floor. “Keith, why—the  _nerve_ ! I didn’t tell a soul.”

Keith snorted at the familiar reaction. “You told Allura.”

Lance’s hands flew out to gesture in her direction. “She tricked me into telling!”

“You told me and Pidge.” Hunk piped up. Lance snapped his head to face him, like the betrayal had been a literal slap in the face.

“In! Confidence!” He enunciated the words harshly. “You’re not supposed to _tell_ anyone you know!”

Keith laughed openly, holding his hands out to Lance in defence of Hunk. “Lance, it’s fine, I…” he cleared his throat, cheeks reddening with the nervousness he felt for what he was about to say, “I want to thank you.” Lance looked back to him in surprise. “I misjudged you.” Lance smiled at him and it made Keith feel, for a moment, that they were the only two on the planet.

Hunk brought him back into reality, though, where everyone was watching their tender moment. “Aww Keith, now you’ve got to hug him.”

Keith glanced back at Hunk, nervousness fluttering anew in his stomach. “Wh-what, why?”

“You hugged me and Pidge, it’s only fair that you’ve got to hug Lance now.”

“ _You_ hugged _me_!” Keith sputtered.

“Oh, c’mon Keith.” He turned back to Lance, who now wore an exaggerated frown, fluttering his lashes in his best puppy-dog face. “Give Lance a little love.” He held his hands open, waggling his fingers to beckon him over.

Keith blanched, running a hand down his face but unable to keep a nervous laugh from bubbling up. “Okay, okay, fine!”

He stepped forward, holding his arms out too and wrapping them around Lance’s neck. Lance’s arms slid across his back as they squeezed, Lance sighing deeply as he rested his chin against Keith’s shoulder. Keith shifted nervously as he felt Lance’s cool sweat stick to his arms and shirt. His scent filled Keith’s nostrils, perspiration mixed with deodorant, shampoo, and something else that was just uniquely  _Lance_ , and Keith wiggled his toes to distract himself from how much he liked the smell when he really shouldn’t have. How long had they been hugging? Ten seconds? A minute? An hour? Keith swallowed, unsure of how much his nervousness at the situation was distorting his perception of time.

“What’s better than this?” He heard Hunk ask over his shoulder, and suddenly he was joining in the hug too. Keith’s eyes went wide as he felt his ribcage get squished between Lance and Hunk’s chest, now finding it a lot harder to breathe. “The three of us, out on the floor at Nationals together?”

“Wh-woah hey wait,” Keith responded, voice a bit strained from the crushing embrace. “Who said I was going to compete at Nationals?” He joked.

“And who said I’d _let_ him compete at Nationals?” Allura added, herself sounding a bit amused. Hunk ended the hug, stepping back and allowing Keith to spin around and face her, Lance’s hands falling too. She had her arms folded across her chest and wore a smirk.

“Allura, we know you already submitted his petition,” Pidge replied. Keith’s eyebrows shot up in silent question as he looked to Allura.

She held her hands up in surrender, leaning back against the trampoline. “Guilty as charged. So, what do you say, Keith?”

He gave her a challenging smirk. “How about this: I’ll take you to Nationals on one condition.”

She tilted her head and dropped her hands, clearly intrigued. “ _Take_ me to Nationals? This I’ve got to hear.”

He pointed his chin over her shoulder. “You get on the tramp and do a back layout.” He shrugged. “That’s all I need, then I’ll go to Nationals.”

She raised an eyebrow, contemplating his suggestion. She chuckled, rolling her eyes before she made her decision, turning back and climbing up onto the tramp bed. Shiro stepped away from the trampoline to watch with the other four. The group of them cheered excitedly as she settled on the centre X, and a few athletes who’d been scattered around the gym came up behind them to see what the fuss was about.

“What’s she doing?” Coran asked from over Keith’s shoulder.

Shiro glanced back to reply. “She’s going to do a layout.” He turned back to face Allura, who was now jumping and gaining height. “Come on, Princess!” He cheered, a fond smile playing across his lips.  _Be any more obvious, Shiro_ , Keith thought to himself, but kept his mouth shut. Given what had just happened with him and Lance, he decided to give Shiro a break today.

“Allura, get down from there!” Coran shouted, words steeped in concern. “You could get hurt!”

“Oh, lighten up Coran! You never let me have my fun when I was training, let me have it now!” She giggled. She hit the trampoline and lifted her arms in a set, then flew back in a high and slow back layout. Keith nodded his approval, seeing that she still had the grace and elegance that she’d shown as an athlete all those years ago. The entire gym erupted in cheers and applause as she floated down to the trampoline, recovering with another few bounces.

“Alright, alright, show’s over. Back to training, everyone,” Coran instructed, obviously relieved that she’d survived but still apprehensive that she continued to bounce. “Allura, it’s time to come back down.”

She shook her head, pushing into the trampoline with renewed vigour. “How about a full?”

The gym replied with enthusiastic ‘ _ooh_ ’s, cheers growing stronger. Keith laughed at the sight of Allura, so strict and stringent, rebelling against her own former coach and letting herself cut loose. 

“Looks like you’ve been a bad influence on her, Keith,” Shiro murmured, revelling nonetheless in Allura’s surprising wild side.

She lifted off the trampoline and twisted, cheers deafening as she spun once around in her back salto. Amidst the distraction of the cheers, it was only a split second before her landing that Keith realised she was severely under-rotated. He didn’t even have time to react before her feet hit, too far back for her shoulders, and she was shot forward off the end of the trampoline. Applause turned to gasps as she flew into an adjacent stack of mats, toppling over to the other side and out of their sightline. They all froze, the gym falling dead silent.

“Allura!” Coran cried, the first to break out of his stunned stupor and run out to see if she was okay.

“Call an ambulance,” she groaned from the other side.

* * *

 

Athletes and coaches alike all stood at the back door of VGA, seeing Allura off as she was carried onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance. Shiro followed quickly behind, carrying a Code of Points and Allura’s signature clipboard with him as he climbed in after the paramedics, crouching down next to the stretcher and conferring with her.

“Jeez,” Keith muttered, waving the ambulance away as they shut the doors. “Does she go _anywhere_ without that damn clipboard?”

“Man, I want to go with Allura,” Lance muttered from Keith’s side. He pouted, folding his arms across his chest as the ambulance pulled away, siren blaring once more. “I’ve always wanted to ride in an ambulance.”

“Laaance, don’t tempt the Gym Gods like that!” Hunk whined. “Not when Nationals are so close.”

“Well,” Coran called out from behind them all, silencing theirs and the other scattered conversations that had bubbled up. “Allura left me in charge, so it’s back to work! No sense in wasting time.” He clapped his hands together, and beckoned the athletes back into the gym. Hunk turned to follow, but Lance seized his arm, stopping him before he could even take a step.

“Or…” He smirked, a sinister glint catching in his eye as he looked between the four of them. “We could use this as a chance to have an adventure.”

“No—Lance,” Hunk groaned, a hand coming up to slap his forehead, “not this again.”

“I’m serious, Hunk!” Lance let go of his arm to gesticulate passionately. “This is our chance to go out, be free, have some fun. When’s the last time we’ve been able to leave Fort Altea?”

“Championships are only a month away,” Pidge reminded him, hands on her hips. “We can’t just screw off when we have routines to prepare.”

“C’mon guys, there’s more important things in life than gymnastics,” Lance countered, and Keith recognised the words he’d spoken last night, surprised that Lance had seemed to take them to heart. “We need to go out and let loose, just for a day. Keith will back me up on this, won’t you Keith?” He turned to look at him, eyes expectant, and Keith’s heart caught in his throat for a quick moment.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Aw dude, don’t bring Keith into this—”

“Actually,” Keith spoke up, looking away from Lance and to Hunk, “I’m game.”

Pidge and Hunk turned to him, eyes wide in shock. “Wait, wh—really?” Pidge sputtered.

Keith shrugged. “I mean, yeah. Any chance to get out of the gym, you know I’m here for it.” Lance beamed at him.

“Alright!” He clapped Keith roughly against the shoulder before walking over to stand in front of his three friends. “Then it’s settled. When Allura and Shiro are away, it’s time for us to play.”

“What about Coran?” Hunk asked, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s still here.”

Lance scoffed. “Puh- _lease_ , I’m Coran’s favorite. He’ll never say no to me!”

“Not true, I have no favourites!” Coran called back from his place inside the doorframe, obviously having heard all their plans, but yet to reject them. They all spun around to look at him.

“Coraaaaaaaaaaaaaaan,” Lance begged, walking over and putting on his puppy-dog eyes for the second time that day.

Coran wavered on his feet, his stern mask cracking. It was when Lance started whimpering that his resolve broke. “Oh, alright! Just don’t tell Allura that I let you go.”

Lance grinned, immediately perking up. “Thanks Coran, you’re my favorite too!” He spun back to face his friends. “Okay so here’s the plan: Keith, you go grab Shiro’s car keys from his office. We three will go back to the house and get changed. Meet us there and we’ll leave in ten minutes!” He put his hand in the middle, as though this were a group huddle. “Voltron on three!”

“Lance,” Hunk reprimanded, unable to contain his smile regardless.

“Alright fine, no cheer. We’ll work on it later. Let’s go!” He turned back and dashed off into the gym.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another relatively short chapter before yet a n o t h e r monster chap. So if u need to pee do it now. Or shower. Or eat. Or sleep. Don’t make the same mistakes that I did when I wrote this, or when I read other ppls fics. Basically do not be me. Take care of urself bc ur worth it babe. Same as before, if ur havin’ fun please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


	12. Mall Prom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our four favourite troublemakers escape to have an adventure outside the confines of Voltron Gymnastics Academy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My. fave. chapter. Also, the longest chapter of the fic. Also, I had the idea for this fic before season two came out, and this was like one of the first scenes I pictured in my head (tbh which gymnast hasn’t wanted to reenact the mall scene from Stick It with their teammates???). So like, when I first watched the mall episode in season two I was like literally so happy??? Because like ????? YeS???? AnYways have some pining klance it’s nutritious and delicious.  
> Also another emetophobia warning. Once more, nothing happens (and it doesn’t get too explicit because of my own phobia lmao) but like there is a vaaague allusion to dry heaving at the start of it. If you really can’t do that, skip from “En ingles, por favor” to “Hunk shook his head, dropping his hand…”

“Left at these lights—God Keith, I knew you were emo, but seriously, do you listen to anything other than Fall Out Boy?” Lance jeered from his seat behind Keith as the band’s third song in a row blared through the car’s worn speakers.

“Yeah man, 2006 called, and it’s saying that even in 2006, this would’ve pretty emo.” Pidge cackled from her spot beside Lance.

Keith rolled his eyes at the both of them, tapping the beat of the song against the steering wheel as he deked through the city traffic. “I’m driving, so I get to pick the music. If you guys have a problem with it, you can get out and walk.”

“I’m giving you the directions, I can’t get out!” Lance countered. “But I am _so_ picking the music on the way back—get in the right lane.” 

Keith nodded, squeezing into a minute space between the bumpers of two cars. He earned a horn from the car behind for his actions, and he briefly flipped them the bird over his shoulder.  _Drive faster then, asshole_ .

“Why won’t you just tell me where we’re going? This is so stupid.”

“I want it to be a surprise! Don’t be a front-seat driver, Keith.”

“You’re _supposed_ to be a front-seat driver, which is exactly my point!” Keith argued. “How do you know where we’re going, anyway? I thought you said you guys never go out.”

“Are you insulting my navigational skills?” Keith took his hands off the wheel, steering with his knee momentarily as he rubbed at his temples.

“Hands on the wheel, hands on the wheel!” Hunk yelped, reaching out for it from the passenger’s seat.

Keith swatted his hands away, rolling his eyes. Hunk had been nervous the whole drive thus far, even though Keith had been trying his best to be a more cautious driver than he’s used to. “Can y’all just let me drive?” He griped.

Lance gasped. “Oh my god, Keith? Did you just say ‘y’all’?”

Keith flushed. “N-no! No, I said ‘you all.’” He denied, grabbing the wheel to weave around yet another slow driver.

“You guys, Keith’s a Texan!” Lance declared jubilantly, grabbing onto Keith’s headrest to sit forward.

“Lance, we’re _in_ Texas!” He defended.

“Yeah, but we’re not _Texan_. I’m from Albuquerque.”

“Maui,” Hunk added.

“Dallas, but I don’t say ‘y’all,’” Pidge snickered.

Keith groaned. “You guys are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“’fraid not, pardner.” Lance replied in an exaggerated southern drawl.

“It’s what friends do,” Pidge added, and Keith didn’t know if that was a consolation or just an excuse.

“Turn onto the highway here, Keith.” Lance instructed, pointing a finger to the on-ramp. Keith nodded, obliging.

“Hunk, you going to be okay?” Pidge asked. Hunk gave an uncertain nod, and Keith decided he’d roll the windows down just to be safe. He didn’t exactly want to stop their adventures to clean up a mess if he could avoid it.

Lance dropped back and slumped in the seat behind him, arms folded against his chest as he pouted. “I still think rules are rules. I should’ve been given shotgun.”

“Lance, c’mon,” Pidge reprimanded, voice getting louder to talk over the growing sound of the wind whipping through the windows as Keith accelerated onto the freeway. “You know Hunk gets carsick.”

“I don’t get it!” Lance motioned towards his best friend in the passenger’s seat, who looked increasingly ill with every passing second. “Hunk can twist and tumble and spin and not even get dizzy, but sitting in the back of the car makes him puke?” Keith glanced over when Hunk shifted nervously at Lance’s phrasing.

“Actually, it’s not the magnitude of the motion that causes carsickness at all,” Pidge informed, sticking her chin up and holding a finger aloft. “Carsickness is mostly caused by the incongruency of the visual stimulation you receive and the motions your inner ear registers.”

“ _En inglés, por favor_ ,” Lance sniped back.

“When your eyes see one thing, and your body feels another, and they don’t match up,” she translated, unabated by his sass. “That’s when you start to feel the nausea, and eventually you blow chunks.”

“Can we _please_ not talk about this?” Hunk begged, looking ever paler. “I—uh… oh boy.” He slapped a hand across his mouth and lurched forward.

“If you’re going to hurl, do it out the window!” Keith shouted, foot to the floor as he sped past a multitude of cars. “Shiro will kill me if I stain this thing again.”

Hunk shook his head, dropping his hand and leaning back against the seat. “I’m good now, I’m good.”

“Y’know, Shiro will probably kill you if you crash the car too. You ever heard of a speed limit, Keith?” Lance asked.

Keith scoffed at the nervousness edged in Lance’s tone. “You scared, McClain?”

“Wh—no!” Lance defended. “It’s just that dying in a fiery car crash isn’t on my to-do list before Nationals.”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Lance. You probably never learned how to drive.”

“Well neither have you, obviously!”

“I’m only going—” he checked his speedometer. “—like, twenty over.”

“Oh thank God, there’s our exit.” He leaned between the two front seats momentarily to point to the approaching off-ramp, about a hundred yards away and approaching quickly. “Get over.”

“Lance!” Keith scolded. “You’ve got to give me a bit more warning than that, I’m in the goddamn left lane!” He slammed hard on the brakes, dropping behind the transport truck he’d been in the middle of passing. He divided his attention between his blind spot, his rear view mirror, and his windshield as he weaved quickly through three lanes of speeding traffic, alternating between braking and accelerating to just barely make it over onto the ramp.

“Stay in this lane, and turn left at the lights. Well you made it, didn’t you?” He halted their argument with a sudden gasp. “There it is!” He stuck his head and shoulders out the window to point at their destination.

“The… mall?” Keith asked, seeing the enormous building that Lance was pointing to come into view as he turned the corner. “ _That’s_ our big adventure?” He shot a questioning look through the rear-view mirror.

“Ooh, is this the one with the big arcade in it?” Pidge asked, bouncing in place.

“The very same!” Lance grinned, dropping back to his seat.

Keith shrugged, turning in to the parking lot. “Well, alright then. If you all say so.”

“Hm, sorry Keith? Did you just say ‘if y’all say so’?” Hunk joked, obviously feeling less nauseous now that they were off the highway.

Keith smirked. “I’m going to crash the car.”

“No!” They all shouted in unison, jumping to reach for his wheel.

* * *

 

“Aww Pidge, you look adorable!” Hunk cooed as she stepped out of the department store’s dressing room, arms folded and expression sour as she stood before her three friends in a poofy ballgown.

“I look ridiculous!” She complained, shifting uncomfortably under their gaze. Keith agreed. He’d never personally understood the appeal of gowns, or formal wear in general, although he was far from a fashion icon, he’d admit.

“Pidge, it’s a gorgeous dress,” Lance argued, crouching down to fuss with the hem, straightening green fabric over tulle. “C’mon, don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to wear one of these things to a prom.”

Pidge cringed at that. “Prom’s gross. Matt went to prom, and he had to wear a suit, and a flower, and take awkward photos in our backyard with his high school girlfriend. I witnessed that horror, and I’m glad I never have to go through that embarrassment.”

“It’s about the experience, Pidge,” he argued. Once satisfied with his work, Lance stood up to face her, putting his hands on his hips. “Alright, I think we’re good to go.” He led them all towards the main aisle, pulling out his phone and swiping it onto the camera as he stopped at its edge. She stepped past him, walking over to the far side of the short lane.

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” She called over her shoulder, stopping with her back to the empty aisle.

Lance nodded emphatically, aiming his camera at her. “It looked really cool in a movie I once saw.”

“Alright, you ready?”

“Recording.” He gave her a thumbs up.

She straightened out, swinging her arms over her head and flipping over into a back handspring. She stepped down from it, connecting it to a third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. As she went, her skirts billowed out around her, drawing beautiful arcs around her body as she tumbled. She ended it off with a layout stepout, walking back out of it a few paces before she jogged back to the three of them.

“How did it look?” She asked, slightly winded as she looked down to Lance’s phone.

“Awesome. Here, check it!” He handed her the phone, then set off in a run down another aisle. “My turn now!” He disappeared between the clothing racks before anyone had a chance to stop him.

Keith blinked. “Wait, is he serious?” He asked, flicking his eyes between Hunk and Pidge. The latter gave a shrug for his benefit, before handing Lance’s phone to Hunk and turning back to the dressing room.

“Keith!” He heard Lance shout from somewhere deep in the jungle of clothing. “Aw man, I’m lost. Where are you guys?”

Hunk raised a hand over the racks. “Dressing room, where you left us!” He called back.

“Oh—I see you! Don’t move!” Lance shouted. He suddenly popped back into sight, running up to them with a bundle of red and blue fabric in his arms.

“Oh boy,” Hunk groaned, dropping his arm.

“This can’t be good.” Keith joined his sentiment.

Lance stopped in front of them both, doubled over as he fought to catch his breath. “Keith…” he took another heaving breath before he tried to continue, dropping down on one knee and looking up at Keith. In his two arms, he held the fabric aloft. Keith could see now that they were two different dresses, and he brought his hands up to cover his reddening face.

“Oh no,” he groaned.

“Keith Kogane,” Lance started again, still breathing a little hard. “Would you do me the honor of being my Mall Prom date?”

Hunk gave an exaggerated gasp, and Keith looked up to glare at him. He held his hands to his heart, biting his lip as he was overcome with fake emotion. “This is so romantic!”

“What is this, a proposal?” Pidge snarked, and Keith spun around to see her standing in the doorway of the dressing room, back in the tied off t-shirt and loose shorts she’d been wearing before.

“Yes—no!” Lance amended himself almost immediately, and Keith turned his attention back to him. “It’s a _prom_ posal! Keith, do you accept my promposal?”

“No!” Keith sputtered. “Take Hunk!”

Lance frowned. “I couldn’t find a dress in Hunk’s size, though.” He glanced over to Hunk. “Sorry buddy.”

“No, no, it’s no problem at all.” Hunk laughed.

He turned back to Keith. “So Keith, it’s got to be you. What do you say?”

“C’mon Keith. If I had to wear a dress, so do you!” Pidge encouraged.

“It’s got laaaace,” Lance tempted, hoisting the dresses up higher.

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, fine.”

Lance shot up to his feet, looking around the department store, empty save for a handful of other shoppers and employees. “D’you hear that, everyone? He said yes!” Hunk and Pidge hooted and hollered as Lance handed the red dress over to Keith. He reluctantly took it and draped it over an arm, thankful if only for the realisation that there were two different dressing rooms, so they wouldn’t have to share. They walked up to the rooms side by side, and before they went through the doors, Lance leaned over to speak to him, pulling his aviators from off the top of his head. “Wait, you shaved, right?” He joked.

Keith couldn’t contain his chuckle, shoving Lance’s shoulder before walking in and shutting the door. “Just get dressed.”

He hung the dress up on the hook provided, kicking off his shoes and regarding it while he reached over to shut the door. It had a V neckline, billowing out after the corset into a long, full skirt. Edging the bottom was, as Lance had promised, a lace trim. Keith gave it an uncertain look. He had no idea how this thing was supposed to fit on him. He sighed, figuring he might as well try to put it on. He  _had_ accepted Lance’s promposal, for some reason. He pulled his black t-shirt over his head, throwing it onto the bench, then set to work unhooking his belt.

“Alright, I get it,” Lance suddenly called out from over the divide, “but my mom’s going to have the picture on her mantle for the rest of my life. I don’t want to look bad.”

“Can’t look worse than Matt!” Pidge answered. Keith kicked his jeans off to the side, standing in his underwear with his hands on his hips, staring the dress down. How was he supposed to put it on?

Lance laughed. “Too true! Keith, you have to see that photo. Matt’s got braces, and his hair’s a mess, and…” he lost his train of thought in a fit of giggles. “… Oh man, it’s something else.” Keith pulled the gown off its hanger, looking around the top to locate the zipper. Once he found it on the back, he pulled it down and stepped in.

“Are these things…” Keith trailed off, wiggling to try and get the bodice around his thighs. “Are they supposed to be so _tight_?” He jumped up and down a few times, managing to get his legs through and settling the dress over his hips.

“You think you need a bigger size?” Hunk asked from the other side of the door.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so? Actually, I think it might be too long.” He regarded the bunched up fabric by his feet.

“Dresses always look longer off you than they do on. Don’t worry about it,” Lance informed.

“And you’d know this _how_ , Lance?” Pidge asked.

“I’m a man of the world, young Pigeon. Hunk, come in here and zip me up.” Jeez, was Lance already dressed? Keith shimmied, trying to get the bodice over his chest.

“Need any help, Keith?” Pidge asked.

“I’m fine!” Keith lied. “Almost done.”

He put his arms through the sleeves, using the leverage gained to finally pull the bust over his chest. He found that the straps were a tad too long, draping over his shoulders when the dress rested properly, but to his surprise, the skirt settled right to the floor. He slipped his sneakers back on, and it hung less than an inch off.  _Lance obviously has a good eye for dress sizes_ , Keith supposed. He pushed open the door and stepped out, folding his arms over his chest as the three of them studied him. He glanced over at Lance, who wore a thin-strapped ocean blue gown. His dress didn’t have a full skirt, like Keith’s or Pidge’s. Instead, the fabric hung airily off the bejewelled bodice, flowing gracefully beneath him as he strode towards Keith, grinning madly.

_Well shit_ , Keith thought,  _maybe dresses aren’t that bad after all_ .

“You look gorgeous!” Lance stepped behind him and grabbed the fabric that rested open against his upper back. He pinched the sides together as he tugged the zipper shut with his other hand. Keith found it a bit harder to breathe, and only part of it was from the restriction of the dress. “Not as gorgeous as me,” Keith rolled his eyes, _of course_. “But still gorgeous.”

“Can we just get this over with?”

“Not quite yet,” Lance rounded to face him, and held up a single finger. “First, we’ve got to take embarrassing prom photos.”

Keith slapped a hand to his face. “I thought you were joking about that.”

“Nope! I never got to go to prom, so this is my one chance to experience it.”

Keith sighed, unable to believe what he was about to say. “One photo,” he muttered. “I’ll let you take one photo, that’s it.”

“Deal!” He looked back up to Lance, who was positively beaming now. “Hunk, you’ve got my phone?”

“Got it!” Hunk held up the phone, looking through the camera to position the image.

“You’re not posting this anywhere, Lance,” Keith ordered.

Lance shrugged. “No promises. Okay, so here’s what you’re going to do: you know that smile you pretend you don’t have? You’re going to put that on.” He grabbed Keith’s shoulders and gently turned him so they faced one another at an oblique angle. Keith really hoped that he was only imagining his cheeks growing hotter. He did  _not_ want photographic evidence of his blush. “Give me your hands.” He grabbed them from Keith’s sides and held them up in his own. Satisfied with their positioning, he turned his head towards Hunk. “Ready!”

Keith did his best to smile, hoping that it didn’t look as awkward as it felt. He glanced up at Lance, who had frozen in what had to be the cheesiest grin Keith had ever seen. He relaxed, feeling his own smile grow a bit more natural at the sight.

“Done!” Hunk called out, and Keith’s smile dropped. _Wait—oh shit._ Lance let his hands go, stepping up to take the phone from Hunk and look at the picture. He regarded the image with an unreadable expression, and Keith swallowed hard.

Pidge peeked in under Lance’s elbow. “Pfft, Keith’s not even looking at the camera.” Keith bit his lip, stomach twisting as he fought back his embarrassment. He’d only been looking at Lance for a second. Hunk didn’t even warn him that he was taking the photo!

But before he could vocalise any of that, Lance spoke up. “I like it. It’s uh…” He nodded his head, before locking the screen and handing it back to Hunk, smiling. “It’s cute.”

Keith forced himself to breathe, trying to act natural. He’d honestly expected Lance to give him hell for ruining the photo, or maybe poke fun at Keith’s stupid expression, but he didn’t. “So are we going to do this, or what?”

Lance looked up at him, as if surprised by his voice. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, and seemed to return back to normal. “Yeah, let’s do this! It’s going to look so cool!” He took off, gathering his skirts in front of him and leading the way through the opening.

* * *

 

“Alright team, are we ready for this?” Lance hyped, the four of them standing in front of the golden archways of the mall’s McDonalds as other customers walked in and out past them.

“I still think we should go somewhere more special for our cheat meal,” Hunk grumbled from the end opposite Keith’s.

Pidge led the way through the entrance and to the lineup in front of the register. “I’m sorry, but we are not wasting our one taste of freedom on crab legs or duck tails or whatever gross crap they serve wherever you want to take us, Hunk.”

“I’ve got to agree with Hunk,” Keith replied. “McDonalds? Really? There’s like, ten better burger joints in this mall alone.”

Lance rolled his eyes at Keith as they all inched forward, now three back from the cash. He was out of the dress now, back into a vibrant teal tank and cargo shorts. “It’s the principle of the matter! This is us rebelling against the Man, or in our case, the Woman. The… Princess? Whatever. It’s a symbol of our freedom from the shackles of gymnastics.”

“Damn straight.” Pidge nodded.

“By the way, Hunk?” Lance asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking up to read the menu. “I’m going to need to borrow a little cash, I’m out.”

“Aw, Lance, I just loaned you money.” Hunk groaned. “You won the purse this weekend, don’t you have any left over?”

Lance rubbed at his neck and stepped forward with the lineup, now third in line behind Pidge. “You know I always send that money back home. Chloe’s starting college in the fall, and my parents could always use the help.” Keith remembered what Allura had told him earlier, about the restitution being Lance’s idea. He’d assumed that Lance had just taken a portion of his purse money to pay his part, had he really put up all his own spending money for Keith’s freedom?

“Let me pay,” Keith spoke up, reaching down into his pocket to fish out his wallet.

Lance turned around to face him. “What, really?”

Keith shrugged, leafing through to ensure that he had sufficient funds. “It’s the least I could do to pay you back. This one’s on me, you guys.”

“Wait, all of us? Keith you don’t have to,” Pidge spoke back.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He nodded his head towards the cash. “We’re up.”

Lance turned back to address the cashier, leaning over the counter and flashing a grin. “Four of your finest Big Mac meals, please.”

The young girl blinked indifferently at his phrasing as she punched their order in. “Will that be all?”

Keith stepped forward, sensing Lance starting to work on some sort of pickup line and not wanting to give him that chance. “Yes. It’ll be cash.”

“$23.96,” she yawned, reaching a hand out for his cash and not even bothering to bring her eyes up to meet him. He handed it to her, and a few seconds later she gave him change back, along with the receipt. “Down there.” She pointed to the far end of the counter, and they followed her directive, Hunk peeling Lance off the counter and bringing him along.

“She was totally checking me out,” Lance boasted as they grouped together by the fountain machine, leaning against the counter as he looked back to the cashier, who now picked at her nails absently.

Pidge snorted, Lance turning to look at her. “Lance, I don’t even know if she had her eyes open, she was not checking you out.”

“What? No, no I was picking up on something there. I can tell when someone’s lookin’ for a little Lance, if you know what I mean.” He nudged Hunk with his elbow, and Keith couldn’t help but roll his eyes. If he only knew how off-base he was.

“He likes to talk big, could you tell?” Pidge turned to mutter to Keith, before she addressed Lance again. “How long has it been since you’ve even had a date?”

“It had to have been Rolo,” Hunk informed, and Lance gave him a scandalised gasp. Keith tried to keep his expression neutral, but his stomach fluttered as he couldn’t help but wonder. _Rolo? It doesn’t sound like a girl’s name,_ he thought, begging himself not to get his hopes up and to just be cool about this.

“I’ve had dates since Rolo!” Lance defended. “And I thought we agreed never to speak of him again.”

“ _Him_?” The question slipped out before Keith could stop it. He cringed at how keen he’d sounded, and hoped none of them had noticed.

“Can’t let the ladies have all the fun, Keith.” Lance replied, shrugging nonchalantly. Keith forced himself to breathe again, thankful Lance had taken his reaction so casually. Maybe Keith wasn’t being as obvious as he thought. And hell, this meant Keith had a fucking chance. A snowball’s chance in hell, maybe, but a chance nonetheless. He stowed that thought away for later, deciding to refocus his attention towards his friends before he got caught zoning out yet again.

“Order’s up!” Pidge stepped towards the counter and grabbed a tray in each hand, passing one to Hunk before leading the way to a nearby table. Keith and Lance followed her example, picking up their own food and following her over. Keith took the seat across from Pidge, next to Hunk. Lance took the seat diagonal him.

“Could I please,” Lance announced, holding a hand up to catch everyone’s attention, “say a few words before we all begin?”

“Make it short, I’m hungry,” Pidge answered, already unwrapping her burger.

Lance nodded. “Ladies, gents, and non-binary beauties,” he orated, “this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for: the gentle caress of the Great MacDonald against our taste buds. We thank the Gym Gods that we may enjoy this meal in good company, and that Keith afforded us this beautiful opportunity by courageously breaking Allura’s back. In Ronald’s name we praise thee.” His prayer was met by snickers across the table.

“Okay, ready?” Hunk lifted his Big Mac, and they all copied his action.

“Let’s do this!” Pidge answered, and they all bit in. Keith chewed, mildly surprised that the burger was better than he’d remembered it being. Not the best he’d ever had, but definitely not the worst. He was alone in that reaction.

“Oh my god,” Lance moaned, his mouth full of Big Mac.

“I think I’m going to cry,” Hunk added, sounding as much. Pidge didn’t vocalise her reaction, but ate so ravenously that she managed to scarf the whole burger down in under thirty seconds.

Keith averted his eyes from Pidge, a bit off-put by her display. “Damn, when’s the last time you guys had McDonalds?”

“I don’t know, decades? It feels like it’s been centuries.” Lance put his Big Mac down to desperately lick the sauce that had leaked onto his fingers.

“Allura let us get McDonalds last year after Nationals, Lance.” Hunk replied.

“She let _you_ get McDonalds! I wasn’t allowed to because I made the stupid National Team.” He huffed.

Hunk rolled his eyes, turning to face Keith. “So Rolo,” he started.

“Hunk! Do you know what ‘never speak about him again’ means?” Lance exclaimed.

“Can’t be helped, Lance. Keith’s in this for the long haul now, he needs to know everything.”

“Yeah, but why is it always _my_ embarrassing stories he’s got to hear?” He pouted.

“Just a matter of volume, Lance,” Pidge added, pointing a fry at him. “You’ve got a knack for making an ass of yourself and we just can’t rival you in that department.”

“So… Rolo?” Keith asked Hunk. Hunk opened his mouth to start, but Lance waved him down.

“Nope, no way. If anyone’s telling Keith about Rolo, it’s me.” Lance leaned his elbows forward onto the tabletop, taking a slow, sober sip from his drink before he put it down and began. “So Rolo was, like, this total jerk who had the hots for me when he first came to train at VGA about a year and a half back.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed for a fry. “Anyway, I’ll spare you the details. We went out for about two months, I found out he had a girlfriend outside of the gym, and we broke up.”

“Lance, you skipped all the fun parts!” Pidge protested. “Like that week he slept over, or when you used to kick Hunk and me out of the house so the both of you could be nasty, or how you refused to leave your room for two days when you found out about Nyma, or when Allura dragged you down the stairs—”

“Yes, thank you, Pidge!” Lance interrupted, eyes wide and cheeks now crimson. Keith laughed. He was relishing the embarrassment at Lance’s expense, and it didn’t hurt that Lance’s over-the-top reactions to everything were always cute.

“Oh man, it was so awkward when he’d train at the same time as us after that.” Hunk laughed, reminiscing. “He quit a couple months after, mercifully, but that whole stretch was just so uncomfortable for everyone.”

“Especially Hunk and me,” Pidge added.

“Agreed,” Hunk concurred.

“Uh, no? Disagreed?” Lance exclaimed. “How about _me_? It was way more awkward for me than for you two.”

“You kind of brought that on yourself though,” Pidge pointed out.

“Yeah, we were kind of relieved when you made that promise to never date a teammate again,” Hunk continued for her. The words hit Keith like a bus. He took a long drink from his soda to give himself a moment so he could figure out how he was supposed to react. He knew disappointed was probably not right. Nor was crestfallen, or devastated. Aloof, he decided. He swallowed, setting his drink down.

“Oh?” Keith glanced up to Lance, before looking down and picking at his fries, praying he sounded casual.

“Uh, yeah,” Lance muttered his reply, suddenly a whole lot quieter than before. “I figured, y’know, it’s probably best for the team… if I don’t… um…” He trailed off, sounding a bit bashful by the end of it.

“It’s smart,” Keith commented, hoping he was convincing them. He’d been so stupid to let himself believe that he could ever have a chance. Lance liking guys didn’t mean Lance liked him. Keith deserved this. He’d told himself not to get attached, because it’d only end up biting him in the ass, but he did it anyway. He wanted to bash his head into the tabletop, or crawl onto the floor and die for a bit, or do something other than just sit here, pretending like he was okay. He had no other option, though. He wasn’t running from it this time.

“Saves us a lot of grief,” Pidge added. “Plus, we don’t have to hear any of his awful pickup lines at training anymore, so that’s always a bonus.”

“Hey!” Lance’s voice immediately picked up. “My pickup lines are genius!”

“One time he wiped out on high bar, and he used it as an excuse to tell one of the girls that he was falling for her,” she informed Keith. He gave a hollow chuckle in acknowledgement, giving her a weak smile.

“And I got a date out of that! Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, I came out on top on that occasion. Now, can we _please_ talk about anyone else’s romantic life?”

“We can’t talk about Pidge’s,” Hunk pointed out. “She doesn’t have one.”

Pidge shrugged. “I’m in a serious and committed relationship with my computer. We’re very happy together,” she declared proudly.

“Well, how about yours!” Lance pointed a fry at Hunk.

Hunk shook his head fervently, fear in his eyes. “Lance, you promised you wouldn’t say anything!”

“Aw, but I thought Keith needed to know everything, Hunk!” Lance mimicked his earlier words. “You told me and Pidge, so now you’ve got to tell Keith!” Lance was obviously relieved to be able to change topics, and Keith concealed his own relief for it.

Hunk turned red, hiding his face in his hands. “Fine, but you tell him. I can’t do it.” Keith could already guess what he was about to hear, but he looked expectantly across the table nonetheless.

“Well?” Keith prompted.

Pidge grinned. “Hunk’s got—”

“Hunk has a crush on someone at the gym!” Lance slammed his palms down on the table, speaking so fast that the words jumbled together.

Pidge sunk back in her chair, pouting. “Why’d you always got to bite my moment, Lance? Does it taste good?”

Lance slurped. “Delicious.” He fixed her with a shit-eating grin.

Keith laughed, gently patting Hunk over the shoulder. “On who?”

“Shay,” Pidge announced before Lance—or Hunk, for that matter—could.

“She’s one of the level 10s, right?” Keith had a vague idea of who she was. A big, muscular girl whose tumbling rivalled the amplitude of the elites.

“Yep. Tall girl. Short, dark hair. Really powerful.” Pidge confirmed his suspicions.

“And if Hunk’s to be believed, the _most beautiful almond eyes_ ,” Lance fawned, an obvious imitation of a starstruck Hunk. “Hey!” He yelped as he dodged a french fry that Hunk lobbed his way. “Don’t waste the fries!”

Keith smiled warmly, as Hunk sunk down to lay his forehead against his hands on the tabletop. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder sympathetically. Having a burning crush on a teammate, being unable to vocalise your feelings to them, and feeling positively feverish when you think about them? Keith had a bit too much experience in that department.

“I get it, Hunk, we’ve all been there. It happens to the best of us,” he consoled.

“ _Oh_?” Lance queried, sounding a bit too keen for Keith’s liking. He looked over as Lance leaned his elbows over the table. “Do tell, Keith.”

Keith swallowed hard, pulling his hand off Hunk and shrinking down into his chair, blush creeping across his cheekbones. “I-I uh… um…” he stammered, bowing his head and averting his eyes. Keith had a bad habit of not thinking his words through. He really needed to work on that.

Pidge gasped in delight. “Keith, tell us!”

“Yeah, if you got to hear about Rolo—” Lance started.

“And Shay,” Hunk added, having pulled his head up to stare expectantly with the other two at Keith.

“Yeah, and Shay, then we get to hear about your crush,” Lance finished.

Keith chewed nervously on his lip, heart racing as he flicked his eyes back to Lance, whose ass had disconnected with his seat and was now kneeling on the chair, so as to lean over the table. His face was stretched by a bright grin, eyes sparkling expectantly, and Keith lamented that schadenfreude was too damn good a look on him.

He sighed in defeat. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”

“Alright!” Lance high-fived Pidge, and they all leaned a touch closer to hear Keith’s story. It was Hunk’s turn to rest a reassuring hand on Keith’s shoulder, and he screwed up the courage to sit up and tell them.

“I’m not really sure where to start…” He coughed. “It’s… there was this guy…”

Now the way Keith saw it, he could go either one of two ways with this. Either he could A) Confess to his three best friends that he’d been crushing on Lance since God knows—because Keith really hadn’t—when. He could make some allusion to this complete asshole who he trained with, a fierce rival who grew, over time, into an even fiercer ally. Someone who made him tear out his hair in frustration, but also made him laugh so hard he’d be unable to breathe. Someone who pushed him to be better every single day. Someone who could make Keith’s entire world drop away with just a smile. Someone who could see him broken, witness his pain with his own eyes, and wouldn’t look down on him for it. Someone who protected and defended him fiercely, sometimes from his own self.

Or B), he could take the easy way out.

“I used to do stunt riding. Nothing ever organized, just like… on the streets.” He chuckled awkwardly. They’d all grown so silent, eyes wide with expectance as Keith rambled. “And he was some other biker. He showed up out of nowhere, like, three months before I moved from Plano, and…” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I thought he was cute?”

Hunk beamed at him. “Did you ever talk to him?”

Keith racked his brain. “Maybe… once or twice? I don’t know, I wasn’t the kind to make friends back then, so I didn’t really talk to many of the other riders.”

“That’s a shocker,” Lance snorted, finishing off the last of his fries. “D’you ever tell him how you felt?”

Keith shook his head, laughing. “God no. Who actually does that?”

Lance looked incredulous. “How do you think you’re supposed to let people know you’re interested? Telepathic communication?”

“I don’t know!” Keith leaped on the defensive. “I’m not good with all that touchy-feely crap.”

“Well, did you flirt with him? Did you do _anything_?” Pidge asked.

“I,” Keith faltered, hanging his head in shame, “sort of punched him.”

The table hung in silence for a few seconds, before Pidge broke it. “What?” She blurted out. “Keith, why?”

He looked back to her, a crooked smile forming despite his blush. “I guess I was… nervous? Yeah, that’s the best way to put it. He made me feel weird and I didn’t know why at the time, so I just went with my instincts.”

“So wait,” Lance shifted forward on his elbows, “did it become some sort of all-out brawl, or did it turn into like a hot angry make-out?”

Keith snorted. “Neither, I knocked him out.”

Everyone’s eyes went wide at those words. “No way,” Pidge breathed, “with  _one_ punch?” Keith shrugged. It really wasn’t that impressive, in his mind. 

“He’s a lucky shot,” Lance muttered, falling back into his chair, instantly looking decidedly less cheery.

“I’ve had my fair share of fights, Lance. I know how to knock a guy out.” For the first time since bringing the topic up, Keith felt some semblance of pride, particularly in the face of Lance’s deepening pout.

“Woah, remind me to never get on your bad side.” Hunk laughed. “Or your good side, I guess?”

“Lance should probably be thanking his lucky stars that he’s not been on the receiving end of your fist, given how much of an ass he is to you,” Pidge mused, chuckling to herself.

“Hey,” Lance protested, “I could take Keith’s skinny ass any day.”

“Oh really?” Keith smirked. “Why don’t you, then?”

Lance stood up, accepting his challenge and setting his jaw. “You want to go?”

Keith stood too. “Let’s dance, pretty boy.”  _Pretty boy?_ He hoped Lance would drop that one.

“Guys, sit down!” Pidge laughed, tugging at the hem of Lance’s shirt. “Don’t get us kicked out of the mall!”

“Fine,” Lance dropped back down into his seat, pointing a finger at Keith. “But this isn’t over, you mark my words.”

Keith rolled his eyes, and sat back down too. “Sure thing. Now shut up and finish your Big Mac.”

* * *

“This mall’s huge,” Hunk complained as they trudged past the food court once more, traversing back to where they’d parked Shiro’s car on the other end.

“My knees are killing me. Lance, can I get a piggyback?” Pidge asked, sounding exhausted from the five hours they’d spent roaming the shopping centre.

“Hop on,” he answered, the four of them waiting until Pidge had embarked before starting their journey again. “You know, for a bunch of elite level athletes, we didn’t last very long walking around a mall.”

Pidge laughed. “We’ve all got the joints of eighty-year-olds with severe osteoarthritis, it’s not too shocking for me.”

“Man, I can’t wait until I’m 35 and in a wheelchair,” Hunk mused. “Those are going to be my golden years.”

“Aw, and Shay can push you around in it!” Pidge teased, kicking her feet out as she cackled. Hunk blushed, but didn’t venture to reply.

“Don’t torture him, Pidge,” Lance chided with a laugh. “Just because you’re impervious to the dreads of romance doesn’t mean you get to pick on those of us who aren’t.”

“Actually, it does. It means I can tease you all as much as I want, and you can’t get any dirt on me.” She wore a sinister grin.

“What I wouldn’t give to be like you, Pidge,” Hunk bemoaned.

“Romance is the spice of life, Hunk,” Lance protested.

“Yeah, well it’s too spicy for me.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “You know, it’s hard being the only romantic in the group. I feel like I’m always having to pull your guys’ weight in that department. Pidge is dating her computer, Hunk can’t talk to Shay without spontaneously combusting, and the most romantic thing Keith’s ever done was assault a dude. Can you guys just try and put yourself in my shoes?”

“Sorry we’re not as resilient to rejection as you, Lance,” Hunk replied. They all snickered at his expense.

Lance shrugged. “Got to take a chance to have one, what can I say? I don’t regret a single thing.”

“Really?” Pidge asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at him. “Not even Rolo?”

Lance shook his head. “Although I do kind of wish I’d followed Keith’s example and clocked the jerk at the end of it, but you know what they say about hindsight.”

“Hey Keith, how does it feel to punch someone?” Pidge asked suddenly. “I’ve always wondered but never gotten the chance.”

Keith smirked. “You’ve known Lance for years, though.” Pidge gasped, and Lance’s jaw dropped with indignance.

“Keith just made a joke!” Hunk declared gleefully.

Keith chuckled. “I’ve been known to, once in a while.”

“Okay but seriously, does it hurt? Does it feel awesome?” Pidge bounced excitedly.

“It hurts a lot if you do it wrong, not so much if you do it right. And I mean I guess it depends on who you’re punching.”

“How would it feel to punch Lance?”

“Hey!” Lance cried.

“I’d have to punch him to let you know,” Keith answered with a smirk, ignoring Lance’s protests.

“Okay, no one is punching anyone!” Lance declared. “You are not ruining this masterpiece—” he unhooked a hand from under Pidge’s leg to gesture at his face “—before Nationals. Or after. Or ever.” Keith rolled his eyes, not disagreeing that Lance had a gorgeous face, although he did wonder how a black eye or a busted lip might change it, giving it a rugged, battered hotness. Keith pulling his gaze to the floor, trying to ignore how the mental image made his heart flutter.

“Looks like you finally came to your senses about your chances against Keith.” Pidge snickered.

Lance started to grumble out a response, but was cut short when Hunk spoke over it. “Hey, what’s that?” He asked, pointing a finger to something ahead.

They all looked up, following the direction of his gesture towards a solid mass of people congregating in an open court of the mall. Keith hadn’t been paying attention, but he realised now that the gentle music that had been playing over the loudspeakers of the mall had gradually been drowned out by the upbeat pop music that now reverberated from the crowd. The group all moved to the music, some in practiced unison, but others in an impromptu craze, inspired by the originators to dance to the rhythm, as the song instructed them to.

Pidge’s eyes lit up. “It’s a flash mob!” She declared with gusto. Keith’s three companions perked back up, forgetting their exhaustion in an instant.

“Oh my god, guys we have to join!” Lance declared, grabbing tighter onto Pidge and running as fast as he could towards the mass of people. Hunk quickly followed their lead.

“Come on, Keith!” He shouted over his shoulder before catching up to the pair. Wide-eyed, Keith obliged, following as well. As they reached the edge of the throbbing crowd, Lance set Pidge down on her feet. They both waited for Hunk and Keith to catch up moments later.

“Could we _have_ better timing, guys?” Lance declared, voice pitching up as he tried to speak over the cacophony of the dancing crowd. “This is destiny, I’m convinced.”

“It’s just a flash mob, Lance. There’s no need to get so excited about watching a group of people dance.” Keith folded his arms, knowing precisely what was coming but still determined to put up resistance. He wasn’t going to enjoy what they were going to do next, he had resolved to that.

“How naïve you are, Keith. You’re not as subtle as you think.” Lance flashed him a sinister grin. “But you forgot one thing: you already agreed to be my Mall Prom date. That means you have to dance with me.”

Keith shook his head fervently. “Mall Prom ended when I took that dress off.”

“Nope! Mall Prom ends when we walk out of the mall. Since haven’t left the mall, it’s still in full swing, and I’ve got dancing fever!”

“We’re going to go ahead,” Pidge called out, pulling an enthusiastic Hunk by his hand with both of hers. “We’ll see the two of you in there!”

“I’m not—” Keith started, but they disappeared into the crowd before he could finish. “Ugh,” he groaned. The song ended, the crowd freezing momentarily until the next one played, and their jubilant movements began once more.

“Keeeeith,” Lance beckoned him forward with outstretched arms, “I know you want to dance.”

“And what is it about me that makes you think I want to dance?” Keith definitely did not. Not with Lance, not in general. But especially not with Lance.

“Well, everyone wants to dance once in a while! You weren’t born with a stick up your ass, were you?”

“If I said yes, would I still have to dance?”

Lance nodded his head excitedly. “You’re not getting out of it that easy.” Keith tapped his foot, showing that he wasn’t budging anytime soon. Lance’s smile faltered a touch, his shoulders sagging, and Keith wondered for a second if he might get out of this yet. “Okay, why don’t you want to dance?”

Keith took a moment to consider that. He just never was the kind to dance; it wasn’t his thing. But this obviously meant a lot to his friends, and he’d humoured them plenty of times before, even when he didn’t really want to do something. What was different now?

“I… uh…”

“ _We were kind of relieved when you made that promise to never date a teammate again_ .” Hunk’s words resounded clear as a bell in Keith’s head, drowning out the sounds of the music and the bustling crowd. Was he really being that selfish? Was he actually about to ruin their fun just because he found out Lance wasn’t going to try and bone him? Of course not. He wasn’t a total asshole. So then what was the issue? He looked at Lance now, really trying to study him.

“I guess it’s kind of…”

Lance stood before him, hands still held open in gentle invitation. He hunched over a tad, which allowed for a touch of collarbone to peek out from the neck of his shirt. Keith tore his eyes away from that danger zone, flicking them up to meet Lance’s once more. They were a cloudy blue, touched with a gentle concern, his brow furrowing lightly in an almost cautious display of sympathy. And Keith realised that nothing had changed. This was still the same Lance who’d held his freezing hands until he was warm again, who’d jumped in to save Keith from blowing his shot at his restitution, who’d laughed and joked with Keith through gruelling training sessions, who’d given all of his own money to try and give Keith his freedom, even after Keith had blown up at him and pushed him away.

And it did hurt, to know Lance would never feel the same way about him. It hurt in a way that no Death Circuit, day after, or wipe out ever could. But that was Keith’s problem, not Lance’s. Nor was it Pidge’s, or Hunk’s. So Keith did what he did best, and pushed down his feelings.

“I… I don’t know how to dance.”

Lance’s face lit up again, a laugh stretching his smile once more. “Well hey, that’s fine! Y’know, there’s nothing to it; you just have to move to the rhythm of the music.”

“I’m going to look stupid.” Keith pouted, already feeling his resolve breaking down.

“Well, yeah, but that’s half the fun of it!” Lance reached out gently for Keith’s wrists. Keith swallowed, but resisted the temptation to pull away, giving Lance’s silent question a nod of consent. He grabbed onto the wrists then, unfolding Keith’s arms and pulling him backwards into the crowd, silently entrusting him to keep an eye out for their two friends. “No one’s going to be watching you, that’s the great thing about dancing in a crowd. Everyone’s too concerned about how _they_ look dancing, they never bother to look over at the guy who’s practically seizing next to them.” He spoke up as they approached the centre of the crowd, music threatening to drown Lance’s voice out, but Keith’s mind searched it out, grounding himself on the sound of Lance and only Lance.

Keith finally caught sight of Hunk, waving him down in the space over Lance’s shoulder. Relieved that he managed to find him in such a crowd, Keith tilted his chin towards him in a gesture to Lance. Lance’s eyes went wide with excitement, and he twisted his neck to pull the two of them towards Hunk and Pidge.

“Glad to see you join in,” Pidge called out to Keith, dancing an awkward marching step.

“Yeah Keith, show us your moves!” Hunk shouted over, laughing at himself as he performed karate chops to the beat of the song. A reluctant smile pulled at Keith’s mouth at the sight.

He felt Lance tug alternately at his two wrists, pulling Keith’s shoulders in a rhythmic back-and-forth. He turned back to look at Lance, who was giving him an encouraging smile. “Just keep your eyes up and have fun.” He did a simple salsa step, stepping up with one foot, pulling it back in, then stepping back with the other foot, before pulling it in too. Keith chuckled nervously, deciding that joining Lance’s step was as good a place to start at any. “Hey!” Lance cried in delight as Keith started to move under his own power, rolling his eyes to water down the grin that crept across his mouth. Lance started to add a little flair to his steps then, swinging their arms out-and-in, rolling his hips, and tossing his head back and laughing as he let himself get lost in the rhythm. Confident that Keith felt comfortable enough, he let his wrists go, turning over to Pidge and dancing towards her as he sang along to the song.

“ _Twenty-four karat magic in the aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiir…_ ”

And oddly enough, Keith found that he did feel comfortable. He kept dancing once Lance had let go, and they weren’t watching him. He wasn’t just dancing to make them happy now, he was dancing for himself, for the freedom he found in the rhythm. His heart felt lighter, and for the first time since his exit at Worlds, he realised he felt safe. He was no longer afraid of the derisive glares of the world, because he wasn’t facing that by himself anymore. He had friends to defend him, to stand by him, and to protect him. He was no longer Keith Kogane: villain of the entire United States of America. Now, he was just Keith: friend, teammate, and terrible dancer.

But at least he wasn’t alone in that last category. He laughed as he watched his friends let loose and dance terribly within the mob, all of them lost in the sensation of the music and unable to care about the judgement of the world. They knew that they looked stupid, and indeed that was the majority of why it was so fun. They took turns stepping forward and making atrociously violent moves, trying to keep it going as long as they could before they doubled over in laughter. They raised the roof, sprinkled the lawn, and executed rapid-fire dabs in an effort to out-ridicule the others. At one point, Hunk put his hands on Lance’s waist and picked him up, Lance flailing his arms gracelessly over his head as Hunk spun him around. Keith and Pidge were grabbing at each other to stay stood up under the force of a gut-busting laugh. When the song came to an end, the crowd started to dissipate, the four of them left clutching their stomachs as they waited for their giggles to subside.

“That was,” Keith declared through his remaining laughs, “the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You guys all need to start doing dance with us,” Pidge said. “Allura would’ve had a heart attack if she saw the way you guys move.”

“You’re telling me!” Lance exclaimed. “I’ve been saying that for years, and she still hasn’t listened!”

“Doesn’t stop you anyway,” Hunk commented. “How many times has Allura sent you to the change room for singing and dancing, now?”

“Oh, too many times to count.” Lance shook his head. “She doesn’t appreciate my talent.”

Keith felt his phone buzz in his pocket.  _That’s weird_ , he thought.  _No one else texts me, other than…_ “Oh shit.” His smile dropped as he fumbled for his phone.

[ **10 MISSED CALLS: Shiro** ]

[ **NEW TEXT: Shiro** ]

“What’s wrong, Keith?” Pidge asked, sensing his drastic change in mood. He swiped his messages open, starting to walk back towards the exit with a hurried pace.

“I’m dead, that’s what.” Keith scanned through the unread messages.

[ **Shiro:** Allura’s gonna b okay. Some muscles locked up but she should b fine for champs if she rests]

[ **Shiro:** I’m coming back to the gym now. Should be there in abt twenty mins]

[ **Shiro:** ? Did u go home early?]

[ **Shiro:** Where are my keys.]

[ **Shiro:** Keith I swear to god]

[ **Shiro:** WHERE IS MY CAR]

[ **Shiro:** Get back right now.]

[ **Shiro:** ANSWER MY CALLS]

[ **Shiro:** If you crashed again I swear you won’t see the outside of the gym until you’re 40]

[ **Shiro:** PICK]

[ **Shiro:** UP]

[ **Shiro:** YOUR]

[ **Shiro:** PHONE]

[ **Keith:** I’M HERE]

[ **Keith:** I didn’t crash]

[ **Shiro:** Please tell me Hunk Pidge and Lance are with you]

[ **Keith:** Yea we’re all here]

[ **Shiro:** Get back. Right now.]

[ **Keith:** On our way rn]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh, spaghettio! Also Texan Keith was another Happy Coincidence with canon that I had planned before season two (like seriously??? Maybe I was just destined to write this fic???) and also the abundance of Fall Out Boy is actually not just me projecting onto Keith (okay it is a lot of it I’ll admit) bUT it’s actually also a nod to the amount of FOB that there was on the Stick It soundtrack itself. And god dammit if Haley Graham can perform a floor routine set to “Our Lawyers Made Us Change the Name of this Song so We Wouldn’t Get Sued” then I can make Keith, her VLD counterpart in this AU, a FOB fan if I wanna >.>;;;;;  
> Also extra tidbit! I had originally planned for the Big Mac exchange to go a bit more like this:  
> Lance: “... the caress of the Grand MacDonald on our taste buds--”  
> Pidge: “Could you get this done before I die of old age, Lance?”  
> Lance: *shrugs* “Okay: time for us to suck Ronald’s McDick”  
> Keith: *chOKES on a fry*  
> Because I can’t resist projecting onto Lance and that’s what I always say when I get McD’s (which is rare, but like u still gotta rebel u know? Even tho I retired from gym it’s still rebelling, right??)  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


	13. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VGA’s Nationals team gets ready for their big competition, as Keith tries to navigate his relationship with Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allura and Shiro are not happy but hey it’s worth it to have gotten Keith and Lance to wear dresses together and dance.

Shiro and Allura had been livid upon their return from the mall. Despite doctor’s orders—and Shiro’s insistence—Allura had been on hand for their arrival back to VGA, sitting in a chair but looking about ready to pounce if any of them tried to run. If Keith was being totally honest, the stony looks of barely contained rage on their faces almost made him turn the car right back around and head for the hills. Although he wasn’t confident in his chances if he had “kidnapping a minor” on his criminal record, given what his sentencing for mere vandalism had been.

“ _You four are going to clean,_ ” she had seethed, “ _the entirety of both of the gyms. I want to be able to eat off the mats when you’re through with them_.”

And so it was, after a day of five hours in training, followed by another five hours of cleaning, that the four of them dragged their sorry asses home.

“I don’t get it,” Lance whined, slipping his key in the front door and shoving it open. “If we’re leaving for Nationals in two days, why’s it that she’s still got us cleaning the gyms?” He collapsed face-down across the couch, long legs dangling over the armrest as he shook off his sandals.

“Couch hog,” Keith cursed, following his example and draping himself against the back of the couch, dropping his gym bag to the floor. “It’s ‘cause they want to teach us a lesson about being responsible or some shit.”

“Well, why can’t they teach us that _after_ we compete? What if we’re in the middle of a routine and we start thinking about Windexing? What if we forget our skills because we noticed some dust on the scoreboard?”

“Hey, at least we’re finished now,” Hunk said, sounding just about ready to collapse himself as he walked in last, pulling the door shut behind him. “Also, whose turn is it to shower first?”

“Mine,” Pidge answered. She dragged her feet to the bathroom and shut the door.

“Then I’m going to go take a nap. Wake me up when I’ve got to shower,” Hunk instructed. He practically crawled up the stairs in his exhaustion.

Keith and Lance sat in silence for a moment, before Lance spoke up. “Make me food.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Not happening.”

Lance sighed, burying his face farther into the cushions. “This is your fault, you know. You were the one who drove us to the mall.”

“The mall was your idea,” Keith accused.

“Yeah, well you were the one who stole Shiro’s car.”

“Because _you_ told me to.”

“Well I wouldn’t have told you to if you didn’t break Allura’s back.”

“I wouldn’t have broken Allura’s back if you hadn’t gotten her to write that letter.”

“I wouldn’t have told her to write that letter if you didn’t go apeshit and tell me why you left Worlds.”

“And I wouldn’t have told you if you’d just let me leave the competition like I’d wanted to!”

Lance was silent for a few moments, then rolled off the couch with a groan, trudging back to the kitchen. “The hell do you want, then?”

Keith grinned, using the opportunity to hop over the back of the couch and take up Lance’s former position, lounging on his back and stretching his tired legs out. “Whatever’s there, I’m not picky.”

“Lasagna,” Lance called back, and Keith heard the beeping of the microwave as Lance prepared their food.

“Sounds good.” Keith sighed, letting his eyes drift closed. It was only about eight o’ clock, but he was damn tired, and the couch felt infinitely more comfortable through his exhaustion. He felt the tension in his fatigued muscles dissipate, and melted further into the cushions.

* * *

 

“Hey. Hey. Are you even listening to me?” Lance’s voice came out sharp and clear, disturbing Keith’s short tranquility. He opened his eyes to see Lance leaning close, brow knitted and mouth downturned in a pout.

“Never.” Keith smirked, rubbing at his tired eyes. He noticed that Lance held a plate of lasagna in each of his hands as he knelt down beside the couch.

Lance huffed as he stood, setting the plates down against the coffee table and walking across towards the middle of the couch. “You’ve got to stop falling asleep on the couch. You’re going to ruin it. Move your feet, now who’s the couch hog?”

Keith yawned as he sat up, dropping his feet to the floor. He scratched at his side, hiking his t-shirt up in the process. “I didn’t fall asleep.”

“You were snoring,” Lance pointed out, sitting down on the centre cushion and putting his feet up on the coffee table so he could rest his plate atop his knees.

“Alright, fine. It’s still only the third time I’ve fallen asleep on the couch in, what, three months?”

“Fourth time,” Lance corrected around a mouthful of lasagna. That was right. Keith had forgotten about the time he’d fallen asleep on Lance’s shoulder. But did that really count? He wasn’t really asleep for longer than a second before Lance had woken him up again. “And it’ll be the last.” Keith rolled his eyes, reaching for his own lasagna and starting to pick at it. The water shut off, and Lance glanced over at the stairs, the silence stretching between them.

“I’ll go wake Hunk up.” Keith stood, carrying his plate with him as he crossed over to the stairs, disappearing up them. From behind him, Keith heard Lance flick the TV set on, glad for the idle noise that filled the uncomfortable silence that had set across their usually bustling and boisterous abode.

* * *

 

Keith was thankful that they managed to finish cleaning the gyms last night. He knew that had they not, Allura would not have given them this, the final evening, off to prepare for Nationals. Training had been in the afternoon and had lasted about three hours. Afterwards, they had all gone home to pack, which, according to Allura’s lecturing, they should have done a week ago.

As per her instructions, they were to have a good dinner, go to bed at a reasonable time, and wake up early tomorrow morning for their flight to Las Vegas. The four of them sat together on the floor in the living room after dinner, suitcases and gym bags torn open, clothing and sports tape and grip bags strewn across the carpet as they all packed.

“Grip bags, spray bottles, wrist guards, track suit, what am I missing?” Hunk scanned his neatly-organised contents.

“Sounds like it’s all there, buddy,” Lance answered from over his messy pile of belongings. “Oh hey, crackers!” He exclaimed as he dug in his gym bag and fished out a plastic bag of what appeared now to only be dusty remnants of the snack.

“Nope.” Pidge reached over and grabbed the food from Lance’s hand, tossing it into a trash bin set by the couch. “Who knows how long _those_ have been in there.”

“Hey!” Lance protested, before a realisation dawned on him and he started digging in the bag anew. “Actually, then I should probably find the cheese that went along with it, too.” Keith grimaced, and he could tell he wasn’t the only one off-put by the thought. Lance was so concentrated on his search that he didn’t notice when his phone started ringing, vibrating the floor right next to his knee.

“Lance,” Keith reached out to grab the phone, “someone’s calling you.” He looked down to tell him who it was, when he caught a glimpse of Lance’s background. His eyes went wide. “Why’s our Mall Prom photo your background?” He sputtered, suddenly catching Lance’s attention.

“Hey, give me that!” He crawled over and snatched his phone back, swiping the screen to answer the call. “Hello?” He pushed himself up to stand, and walked over to the kitchen for some semblance of privacy. Of course, it was an exercise in futility, since Lance spoke loud enough that Keith was pretty sure they could hear him at the grocery store down the road. “ _Mamá,_ _como estas? Bueno, bueno, y estamos. Solo preparamos para_ Nationals. Yeah, what’s up?” Keith looked between Hunk and Pidge for an explanation, but they both just gave him an unknowing shrug. “Really? All of you? No yeah, I’m so excited! _Para ese día?_ Both? That’s amazing! I can’t wait! Love you, bye!” Lance practically bounced back to his spot on the floor. “My whole family’s going to be coming to Vegas to watch us compete!”

Hunk’s face lit up at the news. “Seriously? That’s fantastic, Lance!”

Lance nodded, going back to his packing with a huge grin still stretching his face. “Yeah, they’re going to be all driving up in the van, for both days!”

“This is going to be so great, so now all our parents will be there!” Pidge exclaimed, before glancing over at Keith and faltering for a moment. “Oh—I mean, uh…”

Keith realised that he’d never told them what his family’s plan was for Nationals—it had never occurred to him that they’d see it as something so important. “Don’t worry about it, Pidge, my parents are going to be coming too.” He smiled as she relaxed, obviously relieved that she hadn’t talked herself into an awkward situation.

“Ooh, ooh!” Lance called out, still bouncing in spot. “D’you think our parents will be sitting near each other for Nationals?” He gasped. “Keith! Your parents should teach ours that cheer that they came up with. Y’know,” he threw his arms up in a V over his head, “Go VGA!”

Keith laughed, shaking his head. “If they do, I’ll probably die of embarrassment.”

“They’ve got to show that shit on NBC if they do.”

“Pidge, language!” Lance chided.

She snorted. “If I’m old enough to compete in the senior division, I’m old enough to say ‘shit,’ Lance.”

“When did you become so rebellious? I didn’t raise you to be a potty mouth,” Lance joked. She whacked him on the arm but chuckled nonetheless.

Hunk looked across them all with a warm smile. “Can you guys believe this is happening? The four of us, all competing at Nationals together. I mean, for me and Pidge, it’s our first senior Nationals, and Keith and Lance, you’ve both got a great shot at making the Worlds team off this competition.”

Keith scratched at his neck. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve been retired for a bit too long to make that big of a comeback.”

Hunk shrugged. “Trust me on this; I’ve run the numbers using your scores at the Classic.” Keith raised an eyebrow, were his routines really that good, even just for a _shot_ at the Worlds team?

“I don’t know about Keith,” Lance rested back on his elbows, “but this year, I’m in it to win it. I’m getting that National Championship.”

“Oh man, Evgenia and Kelly show down once more.” Pidge snickered, and Lance groaned for it.

“Are you guys ever going to let that go?”

“Not in a million years,” she answered.

“Does that mean you think I’m going to come out on top?” Lance sat up on his palms expectantly. Pidge and Hunk exchanged uncertain looks. “Oh, screw you guys!” Lance hunched over and went back to packing. The three of them laughed for his benefit.

“You’re not about to ask us to choose between the two of you, Lance,” Hunk replied.

“I’m just hoping to hit six good routines a night.” Keith shrugged. _Although beating you would be an extra bonus_ , he didn’t add.

“Y’better not go easy on me, Keith.” Lance warned.

Keith smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

 

Keith couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning for hours as rest evaded him. The nerves had settled deep in his bones, setting his mind off at a mile a minute, going through every last one of his routines, along with every fall he had in the past week of training. There were many, to say the least. The most concerning were the ones that were near-identical to the prior. He rubbed at his eyes in tired frustration. If anything, this sleeplessness was just making him more uptight and awake. Dammit, if only his brain would let him rest, then he’d get the chance to calm down!

He shot up to sit, reaching over to his phone to read the time. 2:26 blinked back at him. _Great, so less than 5 hours until I have to fucking get up_. He cursed, deciding that if he wasn’t going to fall asleep, there was no sense lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling. He threw the covers off and padded over to his door in bare feet. As silently as he could, he opened his door and tread lightly down the hall, his eventual goal being the kitchen for a late night snack to quell his insomnia. However, he stopped in his tracks when he noticed soft light spilling out from under Lance’s door.

 _What the hell is he doing up?_ Keith wondered. _Probably the same as you, dumbass_. He rolled his eyes, knowing all along that Lance was all talk; everyone gets nervous.

If Keith was being honest, he’d tried to avoid having alone time with Lance ever since the day they’d gone to the mall. Inasmuch as Keith loved Lance’s company, he knew that things had changed on his end since the revelation about Lance’s policy on dating teammates. Not that Keith ever thought that he would confess to him, nor that he’d even try to flirt or drop hints, but he knew that he would always be searching for something when he was with Lance, and without anyone else there as a buffer, the ache of his desire would only grow stronger. He knew it was selfish to shut out, but he reasoned that it was for Lance’s sake too. This was both to protect himself from the heartache, and to protect Lance from Keith’s feelings.

Still, that wasn’t the only thing that had changed since that day. Keith was staying at Voltron now. For how long? He had no idea. Maybe he’d quit after Nationals, maybe after he made it back to Worlds, maybe never. He hadn’t felt this in the dark about his future since his second day in Houston, when Allura had told him about the Classic. And ever since Keith found out about his feelings towards Lance, his only respite had been knowing that he’d be gone after that competition. But he wasn’t able to use that excuse anymore. He couldn’t just wait this out. He had to confront his feelings on his own time, if he really wasn’t ever going to come to Lance about this.

So Keith had to wonder, if he was going to continue to avoid being alone with Lance, then what the hell was he doing standing outside his door, contemplating knocking? He listened to Lance’s voice drift softly through the closed doorway, and struggled to discern what exactly he was trying to summon: the courage to knock, or the restraint to walk away.

“ _No sé lo que es_ , ma, _es diferente con él ahora_. I just—” Lance’s voice cut off at the soft rapping of Keith’s knuckles on varnished wood. A small part of Keith hoped that he’d knocked too quietly, and that Lance wouldn’t hear. Then he could’ve given up, gone downstairs for a snack, and returned to his room to lie awake in bed for another few hours. But Lance had heard him. This was happening. “ _Espere_ , ma.” He heard Lance pace over to the door, and his heart leapt up in his throat. He hadn’t planned for that. He had no idea why, but he hadn’t planned for it. Lance opened up the door, tired eyes going wide with confusion at seeing Keith there. He held his cell away from his ear, head quirked in an unspoken question.

“Uh…” Keith cleared his throat, “I can come back later if you’re on the phone. Sorry.” He started to turn away, before Lance stopped him.

“Keith wait.” Lance reached out his hand, as though moving to catch Keith’s hand. When Keith obliged, he dropped the arm, speaking into the phone once more. “Ma? _Sí, él es_. _Te llamaré más tarde_ , ma. Tomorrow, yeah. _Antes de ir_ on the plane. Okay, yeah, love you too, g’nite.” He stuffed the phone in the pocket of his pyjama pants, and looked back to Keith. His eyes looked positively sunken with exhaustion, but he wore a weak smile despite it. “What’s up?”

Keith laughed awkwardly. “I uh… I couldn’t sleep. Got a lot on my mind, you know how it is…” He realised why he’d knocked, now, looking into Lance’s tired eyes, his body rigid with restlessness that warred with his sleepiness. Keith wanted to be there for him, just like Lance had been for him. He wanted to be his friend through this.

Lance nodded knowingly, eyelids drooping. “D’you have anything specific you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah…” But Keith immediately lost his nerve, shaking his head. “Y’know what? Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing.” He turned to walk away once more, and this time Lance did reach out a hand to stop him, cool fingers brushing against his forearm and freezing him in his tracks.

“Woah hey,” Lance chuckled warmly, “you made it all the way here, why not just say it?” His hand rubbed soothingly into Keith’s skin, and it took Keith a long moment to screw up the courage to look back into Lance’s eyes. They crinkled with a benevolent smile, and that alone could have made Keith shatter his previous promise to never divulge his crush to Lance. If it hadn’t been for Lance’s own sake, Keith might have.

“I have to ask you something,” Keith murmured, as though Lance might drop it if he didn’t hear it. Lance leaned closer to listen, both hands coming up to rest against Keith’s shoulders.

“Go for it.” He nodded.

Keith bit his lip. “I know it’s stupid, and I feel like I should know this already but… I just want to know if we could be friends now?”

Lance’s smile faltered at the question. “Friends?”

His reaction prompted Keith to ramble. “I know, I know, I feel like an idiot for asking it, but Hunk and Pidge have already said that I’m their friend—and I guess it shouldn’t really matter—I mean, I shouldn’t have to _hear_ you say it to know—it’s just, with you and me it’s always been different, and—”

“Keith,” Lance spoke quietly, breaking his runaway train of thoughts. He looked almost sad. “Of course we’re friends.” He slid his arms across the back of Keith’s shoulders, pulling him in a tight hug. “What made you think we weren’t?”

Keith finally relaxed, wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist and squeezing tightly as he found himself once again intoxicated by Lance’s unique scent, burying his nose into the fabric of Lance’s t-shirt. That was all he wanted. He could do this. He could be okay with being just friends. Keith could know that he meant something to Lance now, that he was important to Lance, just as Lance had been to him. So what if Lance never felt the same way about Keith? At least he felt something, and that’s all that Keith would ever ask him for. He knew that Lance was worth any and all the resulting heartache.

He felt Lance start to tremble in his arms, and heard him take a shuddering breath. “Lance,” Keith murmured. “Lance, are you crying?” Lance pulled back just then, wiping the tears that spilled from his eyes as he tried to laugh, bottom lip quivering.

“Y-yeah, sorry. I’m just… I’m all out of sorts, I guess.” He sniffed, trying to put on a smile, but it quickly gave way to a pained expression. He bit at his lip, and failed to stifle a hiccough.

“Well hey, I mean,” Keith reached out to catch Lance’s forearm, much as Lance had just done to him, “I’m not the best at giving advice, but I’m a good listener.”

Lance shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Keith frowned. “No, but I _want_ to worry about it. That’s what friends do.” Keith felt his heart swell a tad at the thought of that word again. He was Lance’s friend now, and he was going to be here to support him, dammit. Lance licked at his lips, ducking his head as if he was still uncertain. “Is it about Nationals?” Keith suggested quietly. Lance looked back to him, seeming to study his face for a moment, before replying.

“Yeah, it’s a big part of it.”

Keith smiled, finally making a modicum of progress. “Let’s sit. Tell me as much as you need to.” He pulled Lance over to the bed, and they sat together on its edge, mattress creaking softly under their weight. Keith waited silently for Lance to steady his breathing, allowing him some time before he started.

“I don’t know, it kind of feels ridiculous when I think about it—I’ve already competed at Nationals before, and I’ve made the National Team too, but…” he sighed, looking down into his lap. Keith put a reassuring hand against his knee, squeezing it gently. He knew he wasn’t the best at comforting others, but he hoped Lance would appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. “I guess… this year’s different though. I mean, last year I made the Team after having to take five months off for an ankle injury, and only really competing at fifty percent. I don’t think any of us expected that. Then suddenly, I’m some rising star, in serious contention for the Worlds team next year, and maybe for the podium at Nationals. Sponsorships started coming in, big names promising me lots of money once I start making a name for myself. And I guess I’m just scared…” His voice broke in those last words, tears starting to spill anew. He pulled his hands up to cover his face, and Keith wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him close to his chest as he sobbed.

“Scared for what?” He whispered, resting his chin atop Lance’s head.

Lance shrugged in Keith’s arms, taking another few seconds to steady his voice once more. “I don’t know… scared I’ll let people down.”

Keith frowned sympathetically. “Who?”

“Allura? My friends? My family? I mean… they all have so much faith in me. They’ve all supported me through so much, and I don’t want to fail them. My parents have gone through hell and back to keep me in gymnastics. Sometimes it meant the difference between going hungry for them just to make sure I could stay in. And I want to do my best to thank them for that. To pay them back for everything they’ve done. My dad moving with me to Plano and finding a job there just so I could train at Iverson’s, then me moving down here and splitting our family up even further, it’s…” he gave a shuddering sigh, stopping himself there to allow himself to regain some composure.

“Lance, have you talked to anybody about this?”

He sniffed. “I don’t want to make it anyone else’s problem. My parents have already done enough for me, and I mean Hunk and Pidge are my best friends, but they’re just kids. I don’t want to put this shit on them. I mean, I’m a twenty-two-year-old man, I should be able to handle this myself, shouldn’t I?”

Keith considered that for a moment. “No.”

Lance pulled back to look up at him, a bit surprised. “What?”

Keith chuckled. “Lance, of course you’re not supposed to be able to handle this yourself. No one can handle life on their own, and we all need a little help sometimes. That’s why we look for friends—and family—especially when we need them the most.”

“I don’t want to worry anybody.”

“Well, then worry me.” Keith felt about as surprised at his words as Lance looked. _Keith, what are you saying?_ “Because when you need me, I’ll be there. On the plane, at the podium training, at the competition, and hell, if you make the Worlds team, then I’ll make sure to be there for you too.” He knew he’d regret those words almost immediately after, breaking his silent promise to leave some distance between himself and Lance as easily as he breathed.

But the way those words made Lance smile was worth it. Keith realised in that moment that he’d be willing to give anything to see this boy smile.

Lance laughed, the sound awkwardly cut short by a hiccough. “Jeez, since when did the emo become such an optimist?” He wiped his tears against the back of his hand.

Keith smiled back. “Since the Lady-Killer proved himself to be sensitive and deep.” They shared a brief laugh, Lance shoving him playfully at that last jab. “So hey, are you going to be okay?” He asked.

Lance nodded, sounding a lot more composed on the other end of those emotions when he spoke next. “I think so. Thanks, Keith. It really helped to talk with you tonight.” He wrapped his arms around Keith in another hug, tucking his face into Keith’s collar and sighing, and Keith returned the hug. The next words Lance spoke were almost silent, and Keith wasn’t entirely sure he’d even heard them when he did:

“I love you.”

Keith put one hand on the back of Lance’s head, spinning gentle circles in his cropped brown hair. He squeezed his eyes shut as the pain settled in, the words making every bone in Keith’s body ache, and his heart ache infinitely more. Because there was nothing more that he wanted than to hear those words from Lance, but not like this. Keith couldn’t even get angry at himself for feeling that way. He knew it wasn’t meant to be, made his peace with that, and yet he still wished against all hope that Lance would one day reciprocate his feelings. He adjusted both his hands, trying to pull Lance in closer, if that was even at all possible, and felt physically ill when he replied, the words burning like bile in the back of his throat with the knowledge that Lance would never understand just what Keith meant when he said them.

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, banging pots and pans together outside ur window at three in the morning: I’M A SAP! I’M A SAP! I’M SUUUUUCH A SAP!!!!  
> Also fun fact I originally wrote Lance’s lines with his mom in the language I talk to my mom and grandma with so like… I tried as best as I could to make Lance’s Spanglish sound authentic. I also used my knowledge of French to try and inform the word choice itself (because I unfortunately don’t speak Spanish haha) so I apologise to anyone who does speak Spanish if the translation sounds a bit off.  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


	14. High Bar, Bye Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VGA faces Night One of Nationals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho boy my guys we’re starting to wrap this fic up, it’s already Night One of Nationals! BTW, the National Championships is set up over a four-day weekend that goes as follows: Night One Men’s, Night One Women’s, Night Two Men’s, Night Two Women’s. So the athletes have one day of rest between two nights of comp, and they compete the whole All Around once per night, adding their total scores up together to award the placements! Also, the National Team is decided upon at Nationals. If you’re on the National Team, it means you get sent to represent the States at international assignments, such as World Cups, the World Championships, or the Olympic Games. And also, the World Championships team (which is the selection of the best team of athletes) is not explicitly selected directly following this competition, but it’s got the highest weighting when they do come to select that team from the National Team, and the All Around winner is always given a Worlds Team spot, so long as they don’t get injured before Worlds.

“Why don’t you just cut it short?” Lance asked suddenly, pulling Keith out of his anxious reverie.

“Hm?” Keith glanced over to him, realising his eyes had been unfocused and drawn to the floor up until then.

“Your hair.” He pointed at Keith’s head, and Keith grew aware that he’d been nervously fiddling with the pins that held his wild fringe out of his face. He dropped his hands, electing to set them in his lap instead, adjusting the Velcro of the grips on them for the umpteenth time since he’d put them on. “You’re always having to tie it back, and it covers your face when you have it down.” Over the P.A., the announcer called for the next athlete on floor, and their conversation stalled momentarily as they waited for the crowd’s applause to die down.

Keith shrugged, happy to latch onto the discussion topic if it meant he didn’t have to keep dwelling on his trepidation over the first night of competition. “I like it a bit longer. It means I don’t have to get it cut as often.”

“So it doesn’t bother you that you’re the only guy this side of the eighties with a mullet?” Lance failed to contain his smirk when he said that.

Keith shook his head, smiling despite it. “You’re such an asshole.”

“What are you two sitting around for?” Allura tutted as she marched over, hands on her hips and a gentle pout on her face. “Keith, you’re next up on rings.”

Keith’s eyes went wide in surprise, smile dropping as he was brought back to the situation: preparing for his second event. “Really? Since when?” Allura quirked an eyebrow and gestured vaguely behind her to the podium.  _Right, stupid question_ , Keith thought, adjusting his grips once more as he stood. He’d been completely out of it until Lance had spoken to him, not even paying attention to what was happening in the world outside his head.

If you told Keith four months ago that he’d be back on the competition floor at Nationals, he wouldn’t have believed you. If you told him he’d be competing willingly, at VGA, alongside Lance of all people, he would’ve told you that you were seriously senile. And yet here he was, getting an affirming thumbs-up from Lance, Allura giving him an encouraging clap on the shoulder, as Shiro made his way over to talk Keith through his routine.

“You okay?” Shiro put his hands on both of Keith’s shoulders, ducking his head slightly to catch Keith’s downcast eyes, a warm smile against his lips. Keith swallowed, giving an affirming nod while his throat closed up. He was definitely far from okay, and he knew Shiro could sense it. Probably because he felt stiff as a board, muscles unpliable as Shiro squeezed his shoulders. “You don’t feel it. Keith, you’ve got nothing to be nervous about. There’s no pressure to make a podium today. You’re still coming back from two years of no training, and we’re so proud you made it here in the first place.”

“Under petition, and only because of my name,” Keith muttered, feeling a lot less confident in himself with every second he got closer to competing.

“Keith, you earned this place. They would not have put you here if you didn’t. You’ve already made it through pommels, which was your weakest event, and you put up a great set. Just remember all your corrections for this routine, and apply them.” The crowd erupted in applause, and Shiro glanced momentarily up at the podium, then looked back to Keith, smile stretching into a grin. “You’re up.”

Keith took a steadying breath, closing his eyes for a moment to regain focus.  _Take each step one at a time_ .  _Don’t think too far ahead_ . He opened them back and gave Shiro a firm nod. Shiro dropped his hands and Keith turned away, hearing the cheers of his teammates and coaches come from behind him. He passed the last athlete on his way up to the podium, keeping his expression steely in the face of a sneer. He wasn’t going to let them faze him, not when he had the support of his club behind him.

He chalked up at the bin, idly watching Coran prepare the equipment for him. Keith hated starting competition on pommel horse, but he was glad to have the apparatus behind him. He’d never enjoyed pommels, and he always worried a mistake on his worst apparatus early on would throw off the rest of his performances, but he’d scored decently, considering they’d been playing it safe on his difficulty. He reminded himself that there were still five more events to go on, and that he hadn’t actually competed a full meet since qualifications at Worlds two years ago. He shook his head, trying to force those negative thoughts out.  _Focus on rings. That’s the only event you have to worry about right now_ . He exhaled a sharp breath, then stepped up to the mat. Coran took his place behind him, ready to lift him up on the apparatus when the judges were. They stood in silence, watching the judges for their signal. He saw the flag get raised, and saluted accordingly.

“ _Next on rings, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Keith Kogane._ ” To Keith’s surprise, the reaction from the arena was lukewarm. Definitely quieter than it was for the other athletes, but a lot less hostile than it even was just last rotation. He raised his arms towards the rings, and Coran took it as his cue to lift Keith up onto the equipment. He grabbed the rings, adjusting his grip a few times before Coran let go, allowing him to hang on his own. Keith took a breath, then began his routine, rising into a inverted hang, before swinging forward into a Maltese. He counted two slow seconds in his head, then rolled back to his cross position, _one_ , _two_. He dropped back to inversion, piking then kicking out into his reverse cross. He did his best to keep his face stoic, hoping the judges wouldn’t see how hard this was on him and deduct accordingly. 

Keith had found that getting big tumbles and releases back was no problem, but rings had been the biggest pain in the ass in his comeback. Every position had to be held for two counts, with correct—or, as Keith knew it, the hardest—grip, and you couldn’t just grit your teeth and grimace through it, lest the judges deduct for not making the exercise look effortless. The routine was about as tedious as golf while being as physically demanding as weightlifting.

He was grateful that his next three skills were swings, not holds, as he kicked into a front giant, freezing in the handstand. He felt himself waver as the rings swung pendulously under his grip.  _Come on, stay still_ . He dropped forward into another front giant, connected to a piked Jonasson, then a tucked Jonasson, ending the last by rolling forward into another cross. His arms trembled on the rings, and he prayed the judges wouldn’t see it from their position. He thanked God when his two seconds were counted, dropping back into another inversion and taking a breath, getting prepared for his dismount. He kicked out and swung into a back giant, holding that handstand accordingly before he dropped into an accelerating giant, then swung down one more time, throwing the rings out to the side as he kicked up into his double twisting double tucked dismount. He looked down to spot his landing, and winced when he realised the mat was a bit too close for comfort. The reaction was cut short when his feet reached the ground, and he took a big step forward out of the ankle-biting landing.  _It’s on your feet, Keith_ , he reminded himself, then pulled the foot back to finish the routine with another salute.

He heard his team erupt in cheers, and turned around to gauge Coran’s reaction first. Coran looked ecstatic, eyes wide and mouth stretched in a grin as he walked up onto the mat, holding his hands up for a high-ten.

“Spectacular work, Keith!” Keith smiled weakly back to Coran, obliging his high-ten and spreading a cloud of chalk through the air. “Not that I’m surprised, they don’t call me the Lord of the Rings for nothing, you know!” He then turned away to prepare the apparatus for the next athlete. Keith walked over to the edge and hopped down from the podium, meeting a similar reaction from Hunk and Lance.

“’Atta boy!” Hunk cheered, clapping Keith over the shoulder on his way to his bag. “Two down, four to go!” Keith laughed, breaths still laboured but starting to even out.

“The double-double wasn’t great.” He commented, pulling his grips off and tossing them into his bag.

“Can’t have ‘em all, Keith,” Shiro replied, coming to sit in the chair next to his bag. “You kicked in too early, that’s why you landed short.” He twisted in the seat to address Keith, resting his elbow on the back of the chair. “You also have to watch your body position on the inverted cross; don’t let your stomach stick out.”

“ _The score for Keith Kogane on Rings: 14.8_.” Keith twisted around to the voice, pulling his bag to the floor and dropping back into his chair to rest.

“What’s that score put me in?” He tilted his chin up to check the jumbotron for his name, reaching blindly into his bag for his water bottle as he did so.

“I told you already, don’t worry about your placement,” Shiro answered, but it was for naught: Keith finally found his place on the board, in 6th. He gave an accepting nod, knowing he’d be a lot closer to that title if he’d had a bit more time to refine his skills. He decided he’d just have to pull forward in the next few rotations to crack that top five. 

Running his eyes up the list, he saw that Lance was in first from far and away after two rotations. Part of him was proud—Lance was his teammate, and his friend, and dammit if his pommels score wasn’t going to be among the highest by the end of the night—and the other part was a bit jealous, still. Keith was a competitor at heart, regardless of his feelings for Lance.

Whatever. He’d catch up on his following events.

* * *

 

In a thankfully sharp contrast to their last competition, vault and parallel bars went swimmingly for Voltron. Keith did his best to be a silent support for Hunk, which paid off in two great scores that helped his young teammate crack the top fifteen. Keith himself couldn’t be too upset with his own performances, a pair of decent routines that brought him into third place. Now  _that_ , Keith did not expect. Of course, given his pre-retirement career, he’d always aimed for podium and nothing less, but with how much time he’d taken off he never actually believed in his ability to meet his expectations.

And now, about to mount the high bar, he had a chance to close in on Lance’s lead. If there was anywhere he could make up ground, it was here. He finished chalking up his grips, blowing the leftover powder off his hands as he walked up under the bar. He stared the judges down from the mat, rolling his neck as they rushed to put the score down for Lance’s routine.

Although he was nervous to mount—given that this was the only routine he hadn’t competed at the Classic—he reminded himself that high bar was his best event. It was the first event he’d gotten his full difficulty back on, and it had always been his highest-scoring in competiton. He knew that the judges would eat up his routine if he just managed to stay on, but he wasn’t stopping there. He was going to hit this one out of the park, as a big fuck you to everyone who doubted him, especially to the part of himself that did.

When he got the signal, he saluted, tuning out the reaction of the crowd to his name being called as Coran lifted him up to grab the bar in mix grip. He kicked up, swinging forward, then back into an uprise-half, dropping down into a back giant. He accelerated into another giant, then kicked up into his piked Kovac, opening up with plenty of time to catch. He caught it cleanly, tapping up effortlessly into handstand at the end of his swing. He wound up for his biggest test, a Cassina. He kicked up into it and twisted, anxious to spot the bar again and catch. Seeing it under his hands, he grabbed it, breathing a huge sigh of relief at the comforting feeling of having it in his grip again. He gave himself two giants to settle back into his rhythm, then went through his stalder-hop-3/2, swinging forward and switching to reverse grip through the front giant out. He stooped through his Alder-1/2, twisting out and swinging up into his Kolman. He caught that release, kicking up and—

He heard the jarring twang of the bar as it was ripped from his hands. Sooner than he could even react, he was thrown off the apparatus, arms pulling his shoulders back as he fell victim to whatever trajectory he took. He crashed high on his shoulders, knees hitting his chest before his legs dropped down to the mat. He held his breath as he waited for the energy from the fall to dissipate. The whole crowd seemed to gasp as one, then fell silent, waiting to see if he’d get back up. That hardly helped Keith’s confidence.

_First thing’s first, where does it hurt?_ Keith swallowed as he tried to keep himself calm. Neck? That felt okay. Thank God. Back? Fine too, albeit none too peachy. A sharp ache already took its place within his ribcage, but it was better to feel that than absolutely nothing. Hands? Those hurt like hell. 

He rolled over onto his knees, the whole arena releas ing the breath they’d been holding as he stood up and walked over to the chalk bin, inspecting his fingers for any blood. Thankfully, all of his nails had been kept intact. He sprayed his grips, chalking up as he started to process what had just happened. He’d fallen on his Kolman. He’d made it through his fucking Cassina, and fallen on his Kolman.

“Keith,” Shiro called out, crawling up onto the podium to confer with him, “are you okay?” He stopped to stand on the other side of the chalk bin, brow furrowed in worry.

“I’m fine, Shiro.” He lied. He was shaken up, his arms felt like rubber from the jarring fall, and his neck was undeniably stiff from how he’d landed. This all wasn’t to mention that he was coming to terms with the fact that he’d fallen on his Kolman of all things, and he still had one release to go before his dismount.

“Breathe, and refocus.” Keith nodded, turning back to the bar without another word.

He jumped back up, regaining his swing and kicking up into a giant, trying to resume his routine. He swung into a blind change, stooping through to his Alder-full and letting go into a Yamawaki, kipping up out of it and settling back to handstand on the bar. From there, he went through a giant, hop-full, giant, Chinese tap, then he tapped into his dismount, a layout double-double. He stuck it effortlessly, as though it even mattered at this point. He  earned a healthy applause from the crowd, but he assumed the most of that was pity. He presented, hardly acknowledging the judges before he walked off the podium, tugging at the buckles on his grips to tear them off as soon as he could.

“Great finish, Keith.” He heard Lance offer sympathetically, walking over to meet Keith where his bag lay. He didn’t even want to look at the guy right now. He threw the grips down into his bag, electing to take a long drink in the place of a response. “Hey.” Lance rested a firm hand against Keith’s forearm, and Keith sighed, putting his water bottle down and finally looking at Lance. He had an encouraging smile, and spoke in a reassuring tone. “It’s one fall. No big deal, you just have to put it behind you and finish up on floor.”

Keith gave a world-weary sigh, dropping down into his chair. He probably should’ve been getting ready for floor, too, but he was too preoccupied in kicking himself for his mistake to even think about going through the mental preps of the routine. He settled for changing uniform, in part to give himself a reason to look away from Lance again. Lance came to sit next to him, having dropped his arm, but not his attention.

“I don’t know why I fell,” Keith muttered. “Fuck, I got my dowel on, I shouldn’t have fallen.”

Lance shrugged. “Yeah, sure. But that’s in the past, you can’t change it now.” He heard his score being called, and wished they didn’t have to announce it over the P.A. system. As it was being called, Lance spoke up. “Oh hey! So I never actually finished the Pit Story, did I?”

Keith furrowed his brow in confusion. “The… what? What did they say my score was?” Keith hadn’t heard—Lance had talked over it.

He shrugged. “Don’t know, didn’t hear. But yeah, the Pit Story, don’t you remember? We talked about it, like, the first day you came to train with the team.”

Keith blinked, gears finally turning in his head. “Oh, right. No, I don’t think you ever did finish.”

Lance grinned, leaning in closer. “How far did we get again? It’s been so long.”

“ _Athletes, please proceed to your final rotation._ ” They both stood, leaving their bags for Shiro to pick up, and lining up behind their group to march to their final event.

Keith racked his brain, trying to recall how far they’d gotten in the story. It seemed so far away now, even though it had been less than three months ago. The days had flown past in his short time at VGA, and Keith hadn’t even realised until he stopped to think about it now. “You dug yourself down and were stuck for hours.” He lined up in the last position, behind Lance.

“Oh, I remember now!” Lance’s face lit up. He walked forward, turned over his shoulder to address Keith still, but glancing up every once in a while to ensure he didn’t lose the rest of the group. “Okay so, yeah Coran found everyone else except for me, and he was all like: ‘ _Laaahnce, Laaahnce, where ahh youuu?_ ’” He snickered at his own awful rendition of Coran’s accent. “And I was like: ‘ _ooh, super stealthy, no one’s gonna find me!_ ’ And they didn’t, keep in mind.” Keith laughed as they walked up onto the podium, lining up at the judge’s table. “But eventually, I got tired of how nasty it was—My face broke out for a week after that, man—so I was like ‘ _okay, I’m_ obviously _the king of hide-and-seek, so I should probably go get my crown now_ ,’ but I was stuck. I tried—” He was interrupted by a slap on the shoulder from Hunk, and the two of them whipped their heads up to the table, where they were both getting stern glares from the judges.

Keith coughed awkwardly, wearing a sheepish smile. “Uh… sorry.”

The head judge shook her head, shoulders sagging. “Athletes, you may begin your warm-up.” They all turned off to the floor, and Keith lined up in the closest corner, taking off as no one else had made it to theirs. He did a simple roundoff-handspring-layout, bouncing out of it as he tried to get a feel for the equipment that day. He was first up on the floor, so he remembered that he only really should take one attempt at each of his passes.

“Do your triple twist next, Keith,” he heard Allura instruct from behind him. He nodded his understanding, waiting for the next athlete to go before he took off. He stood on his toes to get set, but before he could, the athlete across took his turn. Keith stopped himself, stepping back as the guy tumbled into his starting space.

“What the fuck?” Keith growled at the guy once he landed. The athlete scoffed, rolling his eyes and not even bothering to look at Keith as he took off towards the next corner. Keith glanced back at the floor, seeing Lance stand in the corner to his right and motion for Keith to take his turn. Keith took the opportunity, reminding himself to thank Lance for it later. He landed his triple well, jogging towards Lance’s corner to warm up his next pass. At that point, Lance had already taken off for his tumble, but Hunk was there, lined up for his own turn. He noticed Keith’s arrival just then, taking a half-step out of the corner.

“Want to take my turn?” He offered.

Keith shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” They watched as the next person tumbled across the way.

“We heard a couple of them planning to cut you off on your warm-up. Some people need to get a life, am I right?” Hunk spoke up in that last phrase, obviously hoping that the few within earshot would hear him. He then set off down the floor.

Were the other competitors seriously ready to stoop that low? Keith understood their hatred, but were they really willing to jeopardise his safety—and break sportsmanlike conduct rules—like that just out of spite? He lined up in the now-vacant corner, deciding that he’d just have to go before they had the chance to. If they tumbled into him, then that was their problem, not his.

* * *

 

“Your first pass was great.” Allura didn’t even wait for Keith to come down from the podium to start her recap of his routine. He panted, nodding wordlessly as he caught his breath. He dropped into his chair, her taking the seat next to him as she continued. “But you still had soft knees on your Russian. Just because it isn’t a tumble doesn’t mean you can go sloppy on it.” He reached down for his water bottle, absorbing all of her corrections and trying to cross-reference them with the routine he’d just competed.

“I over-rotated the rollout,” he wheezed, remembering how rocky the landing had been in his next-to-last tumble.

She shook her head. “It was fine. Your double-double was still rushed, though.” He thought back and remembered that landing: shallow, which forced him to take a substantial step forward. He could’ve done without those kinds of deductions, particularly at Nationals. Nevertheless, she put on a warm smile, clapping him on the shoulder. “But overall, Keith, it was a good comeback. I want you to know that I’m pleased with your performance today, apart from high bar. Put your tracksuit back on, and stretch out.” She stood up, walking over to the side of the podium to watch Lance, who was going through his preparations on the edge of the floor.

_Apart from high bar_ , Keith reiterated mentally. He could agree with that, although he wasn’t particularly as pleased with the rest of his performances as she was. Sure, he hadn’t fallen on any other event, but he failed to stick more than a single landing, and had a couple form errors that he really shouldn’t have taken. What’s worse, the mishap on high bar had pushed him back from 3 rd to 10 th before floor, when he’d been planning on pulling himself into spitting distance of first place with that routine. He frowned at that thought. His floor had been no disaster, but it certainly was no masterpiece, and figured he’d be lucky to stay in the top ten by the end of tonight. 

They called his score—15.033—and then announced Lance’s turn. The crowd positively erupted at the announcement of their current leader, and Keith could swear he’d seen Lance wink at the judges before stepping on. “What a dork,” he muttered to himself, laughing despite it. “Come on, Lance!” He shouted, watching as he lined up for his opening tumble.

“So,” Shiro started, taking Allura’s vacated spot. Keith glanced over to his brother, who wore a near-sinister smirk. “You and Lance have gotten pretty close, haven’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Keith did not like that tone. He scoffed, flicking his eyes back to watch the routine. “You’re not going to tell me about my floor? You  _are_ my coach, you know.”

Shiro laughed. “I figured Allura already gave you the run-down, and besides, I know that you always overthink your routines. You’ve still got one full day before you have to think about the competition again, and I want you to do exactly that.”

“You’re treating me like I’m ten again. I don’t need you distracting me to make me feel better about a shitty meet.”

“I guess not, since Lance was doing just fine with that.” Keith’s cheeks grew warm. He guessed they weren’t being all that subtle, what with how they’d been scolded by the judges in front of everyone.

“Was that what he was doing?” Keith wondered aloud. He’d just assumed Lance was being as talkative as he’d always been in training. He’d never considered that Lance might had been trying to distract him, although he silently admitted that it did help him get over high bar.

Shiro nodded. “You wouldn’t know it, but Lance doesn’t talk much at competition. He’s surprisingly focused when he needs to be.” He looked up to watch Lance along with Keith now. They clapped as he stuck his third pass—front double twist to tucked Rudi. “But he wanted to make sure you were okay, I guess. What did I tell you? He’s warmed up to you, Keith.”

Keith pouted. “Why’re you so insistent on talking about him?”

“Why are _you_ so insistent on avoiding talking about him?” Keith folded his arms. Shiro was being ridiculous, and he didn’t even want to dignify that with an answer. Shiro sighed then. “Are you embarrassed?”

Keith’ s blush grew, but he feigned ignorance. “Why would I be embarrassed?”

Shiro laughed again, and it deepened Keith’s pout. “ Because y ou like him! You pretend like he’s annoying to try and keep up with the rivalry you guys used to have, but you enjoy his company a lot more than you care to admit.”

Keith spun to face him, eyes wide with shock. “What?” Shiro looked back at him too, smile now stretched into a grin. “How did you know?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, Keith. Pretty much everyone knows.” Keith hid his face in his hands, groaning as he hunched over. So maybe he’d not been as inconspicuous as he’d hoped, but he could’ve sworn he’d gotten a lot less obvious with time and practice! Shiro put a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “Well jeez, Keith, you don’t have to be so embarrassed, you know? He likes you too.”

Keith shook his head. “You don’t get it, Shiro. He doesn’t date teammates.” The hand on his back froze. Keith looked up to his brother to see what was the matter, and the look of shock on Shiro’s face made Keith’s blood run cold.

“Date?” His voice was breathy, and Keith started to panic, scrambling to remember words that rhymed with ‘date.’ _Rate? Fate? Late? Mate?—no no, that last one would be way worse_.

“Uh…” Keith stretched the single syllable as he racked his brain for a way out of this. Shit, he just admitted his crush on Lance to Shiro. By the way he’d been talking, it sounded like he already knew! “I—I didn’t say—”

“Keith,” Shiro laughed, a smile suddenly taking over once the initial shock had subsided, “do you _like_ Lance?”

Keith grimaced, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his forehead on his knees. “Don’t make me answer that.”

“This is adorable!” Shiro declared, voice bubbling with amusement. “You two would be so perfect together!”

“Just drop it, Shiro. It’s not happening.”

“Why not? Have you told him?” Keith shook his head. “Well then how do you know for sure? He’s dated teammates before—guys too!”

“I know. He’s told me about Rolo,” Keith deadpanned.

Shiro’s cheer seemed to falter at the mention of the name. “Oh. Right, Rolo…”

“Yep, Rolo. And since him, Lance vowed never to date a teammate again. I’ve got impeccable timing, don’t I?” He laughed, hollow and pained.

Shiro slung an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Keith.” And the worst part was that he truly did sound it. “How long have you known about… about your feelings.” Keith was minimally thankful for Shiro’s tactful wording.

Keith shrugged. “Honestly? It’s taken some time.”

“How much time?”

“It just kind of… _happened_ , I don’t really know when.” He sighed. “Shiro, you don’t have to feel bad. I’m okay with it, really.”

Shiro pulled him closer. “He really does care about you, Keith. Maybe if you talked to him about it—”

“I’m not doing that,” Keith interrupted. “He’s my friend, and I’m not putting that on him. This is my problem, not his. I’ve already decided on it.”

“It’s your call to make, but I think that as a friend, he’d appreciate your honesty.”

“Noted.” Keith wasn’t planning on taking the advice at all, he just wanted to get Shiro off his back.

“Hey, Blink-182,” he heard Lance call out, and the brothers were pulled out of their intimate conversation, lifting their heads up to look at him. Lance swaggered over, out of breath but looking smug as ever. “D’you manage to take a minute out of your moping to catch my routine?”

Keith smirked, dropping naturally back into a casual tone with Lance. “Got bored of it. Did I miss anything?” He heard Shiro scoff at the both of them, pulling his arm off Keith’s shoulders. Lance clutched his heart, throwing his arm up to cover his eyes and making as if to faint.

“You wound me, Keith.” He laughed, dropping the act and sitting down in the chair next to him. “It might not have been as eye-catching as your spill on high bar, but it was a pretty good routine, still.” The crowd erupted as his score was announced—15.366—and Keith gave a low whistle of approval, setting his feet back to the floor and crossing his legs.

“Damn, must have been.” Lance grinned as they watched the leaderboard update, everyone’s placement shifting down one as Lance retook his leading position—by a full point, no less. That pushed Keith into third, although there were still plenty of competitors to go. “When’s Hunk’s turn?” He asked. He’d finally let himself breathe when all of Voltron had finished the competition.

“He’s after this guy on floor. By the way, want to go out to dinner with me?”

Keith practically choked on air, and he heard Shiro stifle a snort. He half-turned to shoot Shiro a dark glare, before abandoning it and turning back to Lance, clearing his throat. “Uh… dinner?”

Lance laughed, looking a bit confused by Keith’s response. “Yeah, my parents suggested the whole team go out tonight. They wanted me to invite you, Hunk, and Pidge.”

Keith nodded. His discussion with Shiro had obviously stuck his brain on romantic possibilities with Lance, meanwhile he was just talking about grabbing dinner as a team. “Yeah, ‘course. Are my parents going to be there?”

Lance smirked. “If I say yes, are you still going to come?” Keith gave a noncommittal shrug. “Why do you have to be such a rebel?”

“I’m not; you’re just a mama’s boy.”

Lance whacked him on the shoulder. “You say that like it’s such a bad thing! We can’t all hate our moms and hometowns, you know.”

Keith laughed. “Okay, I’ll try to make it.”

Lance grinned, looking off into the distance. “Just for me? I’m flattered. It looks like Hunk’s getting ready to go up now.” He pointed over to where Hunk stood, right under the podium, waiting for the last athlete to come down before he mounted, and they all turned their attention towards the floor.

“Alright, back to work for me,” Shiro said, standing up. “I’ll be watching from over there, in case I’m needed.” Shiro walked over towards him and Allura. Hunk made his way up to the podium then, shaking his arms out as he looked out towards the floor.

“Hey so,” Lance started once Shiro had left, voice lowered and expression growing softer, “are… you’re okay, right?” He quickly glanced back to Keith before looking back to the floor. Hunk was called just then.

They cheered along with the crowd, and Keith waited for the applause to die down before he replied,  matching Lance’s tone . “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“When I came over—when it was just you and Shiro—you looked pretty upset.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t really occurred to him that Lance had noticed, particularly with how he’d acted when he’d shown up.

Lance rubbed at the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on Hunk as he competed. “Yeah so, I mean, is everything alright?”

Keith nodded, before remembering that Lance wasn’t looking at him. “Everything’s fine. No worries.” He tried his best to sound assured.

“I shouldn’t have joked about your fall. That was a dick move.” Lance looked oddly flustered, a side of him that Keith rarely saw.

“It’s not about the fall, you don’t have to worry. I’m okay, really,” he reassured.

“We can talk,” Lance blurted, almost looking abashed by it, glancing down at his hands as they wrung in his lap. “Uh… i-if you need to. About gymnastics, about life, about… about anything. You know that, right?”

“Of course.” This was about the last thing he’d ever want to talk about, but he figured Lance didn’t need to know that. “You’re a good friend, Lance.”

Lance looked back at him, giving him an almost nervous smile. “Thanks, Keith. For letting me be your friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance never did stretch out after their routines. Dammit u two y’all’re gonna be sore if ya don’t s t r e c h  
> The title of this chapter always makes me crack up like the bar sees Keith and is like “lmao bye af.”  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Keith's Still Rings ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML1crs674t0&t=3s)   
>  [ Keith's High Bar ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hbf2lzATwqU&t=75s/)


	15. Love and Other Banned Substances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang’s all back to support Pidge on her first night competing at Nationals, but that doesn’t mean the boys have the night to rest by any means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw dancing to your teammate’s floor music is like… a time-honoured tradition amongst gymnasts. Also btw Pidge’s gym style is like Shawn Johnson's (I wanted to make her like Ellie Black tbh but like you wouldn’t realistically find that kind of unique skillset within the American system rip in pieces)

[ **GROUP CHAT: Gym Survivors** ]

[ **Keith:** Hey, I’m here.]

[ **Keith:** Lemme know when you guys get in]

[ **Keith:** Lance? Hunk? Where are you?]

[ **Keith:** The comps about to start]

[ **Lance:** SORRY WE’RE COMING]

[ **Hunk:** Lance slept in on his nap]

[ **Keith:** Of course]

[ **Pidge:** Classic.]

[ **Lance:** Pidge ur just about to compete! You shouldn’t be on your phone rn!]

[ **Pidge:** And /you/ should be here, not leaving Keith alone]

[ **Lance:** Isn’t Matt there with u Keith?]

[ **Pidge:** Yeah but Matt and Keith are both v awkward, you know this Lance]

[ **Lance:** OFF. YOUR. PHONE. Or I’m telling Allura]

[ **Pidge:** Screenshots don’t scare me bich]

[ **Lance:** LangUAGE PLEASE]

[ **Hunk:** We just got in the arena. We’ll be there in a min]

[ **Keith:** K they’re just about to start. Good luck Pidge]

[ **Lance:** Ye show them who’s boss!]

[ **Hunk:** Kick some ass out there!!!!]

[ **Lance:** Hunk not you too ;^;]

“They’re on their way up.” Keith looked up from his phone to address Matt.

“Okay.” He smiled, nodding his understanding. Pidge’s older brother looked a whole lot like her. He had the same bushy hair and bright brown eyes, although he looked significantly older, had a more defined chin, and wore round-rimmed glasses.

“Lance apparently overslept; that’s why they’re late.”

Matt snorted. “Sounds about right. Don’t worry, it’s not the first time he’s done that.” Keith looked out onto the floor as the judges walked out.  _Not long until they bring the athletes in,_ he thought, glancing back down at his phone.  _Dammit, where_ _are_ _Lance and Hunk?_ “Hey, you’re Shiro’s little brother, right?” The question surprised Keith a bit, and he looked back to Matt with his eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yeah. Shiro’s my brother.” He wished more than anything that he could make himself less awkward, for Matt’s sake. The man smiled warmly back at him now.

“I don’t know if you knew this, but I used to train with Shiro, back at Iverson’s.”

Keith blinked. “Really?” Matt nodded.

“I quit long before he did, but we still kept in touch. Actually, I was the one who suggested Allura hire him in the first place.” He grinned as he scanned the competition floor for the VGA team. “I guess it paid off, seeing as though they both trained my baby sister all the way to Nationals.”

“We’re here!” Hunk announced in the distance, sounding a bit out of breath. Matt and Keith turned to the centre aisle to follow the sound of his voice. He waved his arms as he took each stair up two-at-a-time, Lance scrambling to follow behind him. “Sorry, we got lost and went to the wrong balcony, but we’re here now.”

“No sweat, you came just in time.” Matt shifted down the seats, and Keith followed his lead, allowing the two newest arrivals to take the outermost chairs. Hunk dropped down in the spot next to him, and Lance took the aisle seat. Keith was silently thankful for the buffer—after his discussion with Shiro the day before, along with Lance seeming to forget the notion of personal space when they’d sat side-by-side at a crowded dinner table last night, Keith was glad to have a bit of breathing room from the guy he was slowly admitting he’d kind of _maybe_ fallen in love with.

As if cued by their arrival, the music playing over the P.A. system faded out. “ _Spectators, please welcome your athletes!_ ” The music started anew, and all hands in the audience were clapping along to its beat. Keith automatically joined in, still in practice from all the competitions he’d attended in his youth.

“There she is!” Lance halted his clapping to point a finger across the stadium, where they caught sight of her in her black tracksuit, hair tied back in pigtails with two violet ribbons. He shot up to his feet and leaned over the seat in front of him, cupping his hands around his mouth as a makeshift megaphone. “Let’s go Pidge!” He shouted, earning glares from the people surrounding him. He paid them no mind, particularly when he managed to catch her eye, earning a smile from her and an odd gesture, raising her two fists pressed together over her head, pinky fingers stuck out on either end of them. Lance seemed to understand what it meant, returning the gesture emphatically and whooping.

Matt seemed to notice Keith’s confusion, since he tapped him on the shoulder, leaning towards Keith to explain it. “It means ‘too much rock for one hand,’ y’see.” He held his two hands up in hook-‘em-horns in front of Keith, then brought them together, curling down his index fingers in his own rendition of the gesture.

“That’s…” Keith looked back at Matt, who wore a goofy grin, “the lamest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

Matt shrugged, dropping his hands to his lap. “That’s what I said, but since when does that stop any of those three? Hey Lance!” Matt leaned over to address him, “How about you save some of your voice for when she’s actually competing?”

Lance, who had dropped the gesture while Keith hadn’t been looking, crashed back into his seat, grin still stretching his mouth. “As if  _I_ could ever lose my voice. C’mon Matt, it’s like you don’t even know me anymore! Space school changed you.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Aerospace engineering is not ‘space school,’ Lance. And besides, you didn’t even know me before I left for college.”

Lance scoffed. “You’re expecting me to remember all that? Hunk?” He grabbed at Hunk’s shoulder with both hands, tugging gently on his shirt’s sleeve. “Promise me you won’t forget me like Matt did when you go to space school, okay?” Hunk laughed, patting Lance on the head.

“Don’t worry buddy, you’re pretty unforgettable.” Lance gave him a warm smile before letting go of the sleeve, pulling his hands up over his head to stretch and yawn—obviously, he was still recovering from his nap before—and exposing a strip of tanned skin when his shirt lifted. Keith realised after a moment that he was gawking at the hint of Lance’s toned abs, tearing his gaze away and coughing into a fist, hoping no one had noticed.

“So… engineering?” He asked, looking back to Matt to give himself somewhere to look where Lance wasn’t in his field of vision.

Matt nodded eagerly. “I’ve wanted to work for NASA ever since I went to space camp, summer of fourth grade. Plus, it’s bound to pay better than just coaching at VGA over school breaks.”

“Got to love a guy who decided on a career in elementary school and stuck with it, am I right, Keith?” Lance called over. They all twisted back to look at him. The response, frankly, had surprised Keith. If he didn’t know Lance any better, he might’ve thought it sounded a bit rude.

But Matt seemed unperturbed, chuckling. “ That’s rich coming from a professional athlete.” 

Keith snorted, turning to face Matt again. “I can see where Pidge gets her sense of humor from, now.”

“Wh—Oh hey, Matt!” Lance called out again, all of them looking back to him for his second interruption. “I finally found a prom picture that’s more embarrassing than yours!” He moved to crouch on his seat, pulling out his phone before stretching across Hunk and Keith to pass it over to Matt. Keith sucked in a sharp breath when Lance pressed a hand into his thigh, squirming back into his chair as best he could until Lance moved the hand to Keith and Matt’s shared armrest.

Keith sputtered. “Lance what the fuck are—wait, you better not show him that picture of us!” Keith’s cheeks burned as he reached for Lance’s outstretched phone, but Lance pulled the phone out of his reach, bending his other elbow to push into Keith’s sternum and keep him away.

“Keith, I’m flattered that you think we’re the best worst prom photo, but I actually found a better one. Behold, Matt: Takashi Shirogane, in all his high school senior splendor!” He managed to hand the phone off, and they all sat in silence, watching Matt’s reaction.

It took him a moment, but he slapped a hand to his mouth, eyes crinkling as he stifled a laugh. “Oh my god, I’d forgotten how bad he looked in high school.” Keith sat up a bit to look over Matt’s shoulder, and Matt tilted the screen to give him a better look at it. It was a familiar picture to Keith, since it had been up on his parents’ mantle for many years now. Shiro stood on their front lawn, arms around some girl Keith had never bothered to remember the name of, wearing a rented tux that hugged him in all the wrong places and, to top it off, a fedora. Even Keith couldn’t suppress a snort at that last detail, knowing how embarrassed Shiro felt that he went through  _that_ phase.

“Lance.” Keith looked up at him, still perched over his lap, and gave him a questioning look. Lance looked back, a goofy grin plastered across his face. “Where the hell d’you even get this picture?” He’d been under the impression that Shiro, rightfully so, had hidden any proof of his high school fashion from the public eye.

His grin turned mischievous, dipping his chin and softening his eyes. “I asked your dad if he had any photos of you two on his phone.” He gave a single-shoulder shrug. “It’s too bad he didn’t have many younger photos of you.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Perks of being the adopted son.”

Lance scoffed. “More like ‘perks of flipping people off in any photo they try to take of you.’ Seriously dude, my parents would kill me if I ever tried to pull that crap when they took a photo of me.”

Keith shook his head, remembering his old go-to move to avoid being photographed. His parents obviously needed a bit of a talking-to when it came to discretion, particularly concerning Lance.

“And,” Lance began again, turning back to Matt. He swiped his finger a few times to the right. “Here’s Keith’s and my embarrassing prom photo.”

“Lance!” Keith cried, half-jumping out of his chair to reach for the phone in Matt’s hand. This jostled Lance from his precarious balance across their laps, sending him flailing back to catch himself before he fell ass-first onto the unforgiving concrete. Keith reached over Matt for the phone, but he had already leaned over to the other side, pulling the phone out of reach.

“Keith!” Lance gave an indignant shriek once he’d steadied himself, balancing with his hands and feet planted on their seats and the backs of those in the row ahead. Keith sat down and looked back at him, now under the intensity of Lance’s glare. “You could’ve _killed_ me just now!”

Keith folded his arms, pouting. “It’s your fault, dumbass. Why didn’t you just stand up like a regular person?”

“This was the easiest way! You didn’t have to flip me like a pancake just because—”

“Excuse me.” The older gentleman sitting in the seat directly in front of Keith turned back to fix them both with an annoyed glare. “I am trying to watch the gymnastics over here, so could you please—” he brought two pinched fingers in front of his face, making a sharp zipping motion across his mouth.

“I’m sorry about my friends, sir,” Hunk spoke up, offering his hand to Lance. “Can you get down before you get us kicked out now, please?” Lance heaved a heavy sigh before obliging, dropping his feet to the floor and accepting Hunk’s outstretched hand. He stood before immediately plopping back into his own seat.

“Where did you take this?” Matt spoke up unexpectedly, sitting upright once more but still studying the phone with an amused look.

“We skipped training and went to the mall!” Lance beamed as he answered, reaching across for his phone when Matt offered it back. They both dropped back into their seats, Lance examining the screen for a fast second before he slipped it back into the front pocket of his shorts.

“Allura must not have liked that,” Matt mused, looking out towards the competition floor now. They sat high up in the stands, giving them a good, even view of all four apparatuses. He seemed to fix his gaze at the balance beam on the far left of the stadium, set before an enormous American flag.

Hunk laughed. “We were given clean up duty for two weeks, my hands still smell like bleach from it.”

“Guys, look!” Matt sat forward excitedly, pointing across to the beam now. “She’s up next!” They all twisted back and cheered, Lance standing out of his chair to holler and earning some more side eyes from their seatmates.

“Dude.” Hunk hooked a finger in Lance’s belt loop and tugged, prompting Lance to sit back down. “Don’t get security called on us again.” Keith snorted. _Again? Seriously?_

“I can’t help it, I’m excited for her!” Lance cried defensively.

“ _Next on Balance Beam, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Katelyn Holt._ ” The crowd cheered, and Keith furrowed his brow in confusion. _Katelyn Holt?_

Hunk noticed his reaction, giving a delighted gasp. “Keith just had the moment!” Keith realised about a  second later that Pidge wasn’t an actual name, and was clearly a nickname.

“I, uh…” he stammered, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

“It’s okay, Keith,” Lance laughed, obviously amused by Keith’s embarrassment, “the moment when you find out Pidge’s real name is a rite of passage. You’re now an official full-fledged member of Team Voltron!”

“I know we’re all excited for Keith and all,” Matt spoke up now, nerves edging his tone, “but can the celebrations wait until after her routine? I always get nervous watching beam. Keith I hate to ask this of you, but I’m going to need to hold your hand.”

Keith nodded, offering his hand without looking back. “My parents always did the same thing.” Matt grabbed on, squeezing tight as Pidge went through her first acro series—two back handsprings into a two-foot layout. She landed it well, with only a minor hesitation before presenting. Keith slapped his free hand against his thigh, attempting to clap with only one of them.

“See, Lance?” Keith smirked. “My hands can’t be that bad, if Matt’s willing to hold one.”

Lance snapped around to look at him, a pout decorating his features. “Matt obviously isn’t paying attention to how nasty your hands are, then. He’s too distracted trying not to combust while watching Pidge’s beam.”

Keith shrugged, thankful that Lance had still remembered the argument they’d had so long ago. “He still seems fine with holding it.”

“Hey— _I_ was fine holding your hand too, y’know!” He huffed, crossing his arms.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Hardly, given how much you—”

Hunk held a hand out to both of them, signalling a stop. “Guys! Shush! Her standing full’s coming up!”

* * *

 

“Ooh, my favourite part!” Lance danced along to Pidge’s floor music in his chair, mimicking her sharp hand motions and rolling his body with a little added flair that was uniquely Lance’s.

“They should have you up for an exhibition routine, Lance.” Matt laughed from Keith’s side, the three of them dividing their attention between Pidge’s routine and his sideline rendition.

“He practices the routines enough for it.” Hunk chuckled, and Keith remembered how often Lance was scolded in the gym for forgetting his own workouts in favour of copying the girls’ choreography.

“It’s nice to be recognized for my talents, for once!” Lance grinned, keeping his eyes fixed on Pidge and stopping his dancing once she took off for her fourth and final pass. “C’mon Pidge!” He shouted, clapping his hands together as they all leaned forward to watch. The four of them erupted into cheers as she landed her two-and-a-half to punch front layout, taking only the slightest of hops. She and Lance moved back into the choreography, both of them snapping their heads up simultaneously in sync with the final beat. The four of them shot up to their feet in rapturous applause, not caring about obstructing the view of those who sat behind them as they celebrated the near-impeccable routine.

“That’s bound to score a 15, at least!” Hunk declared once the applause had died down, all of them sitting once more, with the exception of Lance.

“No doubt! Man, I’m hungry from all the dancing. Let’s go grab some nachos or something. Matt?” Lance looked over to address him. “Mind staying with our stuff?”

Matt nodded. “Just make sure to bring something back for me, or else I’ll tell Allura what you guys are eating.”

Lance laughed. “Deal.” He turned back to Hunk and Keith. “Alright boys, let’s go!” He sidled out to the aisle and started down the concrete steps, Keith following his lead behind Hunk.

“D’you remember where the food stand was, Hunk?” Lance called back as he stepped through the doorway out of the balcony. Hunk followed quickly behind. Keith quickened his pace down the stairs to try and catch up, ducking through the short, dark hallway that led back to the main hall of the arena.

“I’m not sure. I don’t think we passed it on our way in.” Hunk folded his arms as he looked around.

Lance stopped momentarily, waiting for his two friends to catch up. He shook his head. “We definitely passed it, I know it.” He turned his back to study the arena, scratching at his chin as he started to walk around the hall, and pacing slowly as he scanned through the crowds for a food stand. “There!” He cried in delight, picking up his pace and disappearing into the crowd.

“Shit,” Keith cursed, tapping Hunk on the shoulder to catch his attention before he ducked his head and tried to follow Lance, or at least where he thought Lance had gone. “Why can’t he just wait for us?” Keith stumbled as he caught himself on an outstretched foot, suspecting it wasn’t an accident when he heard snickering from over his shoulder. “Hey, watch it!” He sneered, glancing back momentarily to shoot a dark glare in the general direction of the sound. He had no idea if they’d seen it, nor did he really care. He had more important matters at hand, namely trying to locate a runaway Lance.

“Over here!” He heard Lance shout, a hand shooting up somewhere in front of him.

“Don’t move!” Hunk called back, catching up and walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith as they waded through the crowd. They made it to where Lance stood at the end of a long lineup. Looking back at them both with a grin, he dropped the hand to put it on his hip.

“Nice of you two to make it,” he mused, looking up towards the menu, then grimacing. “Yeesh. Why’s everything so expensive?”

Keith sighed. “Am I picking up the tab tonight, too?” He didn’t really mind, but he wasn’t sure if he had enough cash on him for all four of them to get food.

Lance shook his head, smiling again. “Nope, tonight’s on me! My dad gave me some money for food, so we can indulge… within reason.” He chuckled.

Keith felt someone tap on his shoulder. Reflexively, he turned towards it, and before  a question could leave his lips, felt himself get doused in a freezing liquid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the smell registered as cola, but his thoughts were primarily occupied by the instinct to pull his arms up and cover himself. He opened his eyes back up to see who the fuck just threw soda at him, and found himself under the intensely hateful glare of a complete stranger. Some plucky teenage girl he didn’t even know with a clear vendetta. She dropped her now-empty cup, shoving at Keith’s shoulders with both hands and causing him to stumble back into Lance.

“That was for Worlds.” She snarled, turning around and disappearing quickly into the crowd.

Keith, who had been frozen in shock a moment ago, snapped, stepping up to catch her. “Punk ass—”

“Woah there.” His tirade was cut short by Hunk, who wrapped an arm around Keith’s waist to hold him back.

“Keith,” Lance spoke softly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, “are you okay?”

Keith twisted around in Hunk’s grip, looking back between the two of them. His rage dwindled as he realised the kid was probably too far to catch now, and the sticky chill of the soda settled against his skin. He nodded. “Yeah, I… uh…” he absently wiped at the cola that dripped off his chin.

Lance looked up to Hunk now, setting his jaw determinedly. “You get the nachos. I’ll take Keith and get him cleaned up.” Hunk nodded, loosening his grasp on Keith’s waist. Lance slid the hand that had rested on Keith’s shoulder down to his wrist, grabbing it tightly and turning away, parting the crowd as he pulled Keith through it. “Can you believe that? I swear if I see that kid again—” He stopped at the leotard booth, gesturing to catch the attention of the young boy behind the table and pointing up to a black t-shirt that hung on the wall. “Medium.” Lance informed him, and he obliged, grabbing a folded shirt that had been stacked beneath it, then bagging it and sliding it forward on the table.

“Twenty bucks.” The boy said.

Lance nodded, pulling out his wallet and setting it open on the table. The fingers against Keith’s wrist fidgeted, and Keith realised that rifling through the wallet would probably be easier if he used both hands, but Lance didn’t let go. He simply furrowed his brow, leafing through old bus passes and receipts to find the only $20 bill the wallet contained. He slid it wordlessly over the counter, stuffing his wallet back into his pocket and grabbing the bag, then turning away once more with Keith in tow.

“Like, who the hell _does_ that?” Keith kept silent as Lance continued to rave, erratically waving the arm that held the bag b before turning an abrupt corner, pulling him into the washroom. “She could’ve hit me too, you know? And then where would we be?” He spun back to face Keith now, finally dropping his hand and reaching into the bag, pulling the new shirt out. “Take off your shirt, we’ll carry it in here.” 

Keith nodded, peeling the soaking shirt off and shivering once the cool air of the A/C hit his soaking skin. He balled it up and dropped it into the bag Lance held out for him, turning back wordlessly towards the sink and pulling out some paper towels. He ran a wad of towels under the tap, ringing the excess water out of it and wiping the sticky cola off his chest. He watched Lance continue to fume in the mirror, arms folded and foot tapping against the floor as he looked positively enraged.

“And what she said to you? ‘ _That was for Worlds_ ,’” Lance scoffed. “The little pipsqueak probably wasn’t out of diapers when that happened. Some people just need to get over it, goddamn—”

“Lance,” Keith mumbled, wiping at his chin and throwing the dirtied paper towel in the trash.

“—Was she raised in a fucking barn? Where are this kid’s parents?—”

“Lance,” Keith repeated a bit louder, resting his hands on the edge of the counter to try and steady himself.

“—I tell you right now I’d whoop her ass if—”

“Lance.” Keith spun around to look at him, and Lance finally stopped rambling. “I can’t do this,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Lance furrowed his brow, looking almost cautious. “What do you mean? You can’t do what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely. “All of it. What the hell am I even doing, coming back to gymnastics?”

Lance gave him a sad look, dropping what he’d been holding and closing the gap between them in a few steps. He grabbed both of Keith’s hands in his own, kneading gentle circles on his knuckles. “Keith, it’s okay. It was just some stupid kid—”

“No, it’s not.” Keith interrupted. He sighed, dropping his eyes to the floor. “It’s not just that kid. It’s all the spectators jeering me, and the other gymnasts wishing for me to get hurt, and my Worlds teammates and how I ruined their lives, and—and I’m not ready for this. They’re all right, Lance. I’ve got no right to come back here. I should’ve just stayed retired.”

“Why?” Keith looked back up, raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Why the fuck should you have to retire, just for them?”

“Because they’re right; I shouldn’t be here.”

“Like hell you shouldn’t! Keith,” Lance barked out a laugh, “you’re fifth in the country right now counting a fall, after only three months back in the gym—that’s incredible.”

Keith shook his head. “That’s celebrity score inflation—”

“And so what if it is?” Lance interrupted, leaning in. “You still have the difficulty to keep up in the standings, and you can’t help how the judges score you. What, you’re going to punish yourself because that’s what everyone else wants? Since when did you care about making other people happy?” Lance added that last bit with a chuckle, but it did little to lighten Keith’s mood. Lance sighed. “Keith,” his voice softened suddenly, “look, a lot of what you’ve done with gymnastics… you did it out of love. I get that.”

Keith furrowed his brow, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

I mean…” He paused for a second, trying to find the words to say. “You started gymnastics for your parents, right? You loved them, and you wanted to make them happy. You stuck with it for Iverson, because you thought it’d make him proud of you. Then you quit for Shiro, because you wanted to show him that your love for him was boundless, that you’d choose him over everything and everyone else.” He smiled. “Now you’re back, and you’ve got nothing to prove to anyone anymore. So don’t worry about what anyone else wants. Because at the end of the day, fuck them all.” He laughed. “Fuck your old teammates, fuck the crowds, and fuck Iverson, and fuck your parents, and fuck Shiro—and hell, fuck me too!—because this is about you, and only you.”

“Why are you even telling me this? I thought you said you didn’t even want me here.”

Lance’s smile faded, and he gave him a guilty look. “I… I know, and I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, Keith, I…” he bit his lip before continuing. “I just—you seemed so miserable, I thought you wanted out. It didn’t make sense to me, why you’d even stuck with it to Worlds if you hated it so much, but when you told me what happened with you and Iverson, it all made sense.”  He paused for a moment, adjusting his grip on Keith’s hands before he spoke up again.  “Keith, you said to me that there are bigger things in life than gymnastics, but that doesn’t mean gymnastics can’t be a part of your life. You love it—and I know you do, I can see it—and I know you got hurt, and I wish I could’ve done something to take that burden off you, to… to have made you feel a little less alone through all that shit. I fucked up, and I get that. I was a total asshole to you when you first came back, and at the Classic too, and I wish I’d known—”

“But you didn’t,” Keith cut him off. “It’s not your fault for hating me, it’s mine.”

Lance’s shoulders sagged. “Keith, I never hated you. I might’ve been angry at you, and I always got frustrated with you, and I spent a lot of time being really jealous of you.”  He sighed.  “I hated myself for not being you, but I promise you, I never hated you. And… and I told you I wanted you gone because I thought that’s what would make you happy. That’s all I wanted, Keith. But now I know better: I know you love gymnastics, and I know you want to stay. So dammit, don’t bail this time. You’ve paid your dues, you don’t have to feel guilty for wanting this.”

“Lance, this isn’t your responsibility, you don’t have to protect me—”

“I know that, Keith!” He interrupted. “I know that, but I still want to do it. I want to help you with this, just like you helped me. You don’t have to face any of this alone anymore, I’ll always be here to help you through. You’re not quitting now, not when you’re so close to making it back. I’m not going to let you punish yourself for wanting to be happy.”

Keith sighed, exasperated. “Why do you even  _care_ , Lance?”

Lance sputtered. “Wh—because I do! Do I need a reason? I care about you, Keith! I love you, and I want to be here for you whenever you need me, especially when you think you don’t. You mean the world to me, and I swear—I  _swear_ ,” he repeated himself, squeezing Keith’s hands for emphasis. “I’d do anything to see you smile.”

Keith didn’t know when his breath had stopped, but when he finally noticed it, he couldn’t for the life of him get himself to start breathing again. “Lance?” He nearly choked out, finally managing to suck some air in now that he’d unclenched his jaw.

He got lost in the deep blue of Lance’s eyes, the eyes that were focused unerringly and intensely on Keith’s, crinkling under the force of what Keith had come to associate with Lance’s genuine smile. Keith felt weak in the knees. Lance was too close. This was too close. They held their hands tight, standing toe-to-toe, faces only a breath away from each other, and Lance had the nerve to say all those things to Keith. To say all the things Keith had thought, all the things Keith wanted to tell him, all the things that had brought him to the conclusion that he was irretrievably, madly in love with his closest friend. He felt the dreaded hope fill his heart, buoying his spirits with the tiniest possibility that Lance might feel the same way if Keith listened to Shiro’s advice just this once and told him how he felt, and he moved quickly to strangle it.

But not quickly enough.

Because in all fairness, Keith had been about as surprised as Lance when he’d yanked his hands out of Lance’s grip, grabbing at the sides of his face and crushing their mouths together. The kiss was tight-lipped and short, Keith pushing away from it as soon as he’d realised just what he’d done. For a few seconds they just stood there, each staring at the other with wide eyes and slacked jaws as they processed just what the hell had happened. Keith’s internal monologue was an unending string of curses, but outwardly he silently studied Lance’s face in his hands, eyes darting quickly across as they searched for any sign of a reaction. Lance blinked, his mouth moving as though he meant to say something, but no words came through the shock. Keith’s heart dropped.

“Sorry, shit—” Keith stammered, pulling his hands off Lance’s face and now desperately avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t—fuck, I’m so sorry.” He brushed a hand nervously through his bangs, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m…” he took a step towards the door, then another. “I’m going to go.” He turned away, intent on hurrying out, before he felt Lance grab his wrist. He froze, swallowing hard as he turned back, dread settling in his bones as he forced himself to look up at Lance again.

Lance still wore the shock in his expression, but a nervous smile broke through it. “You, uh,” he started, giving an awkward laugh before he continued, “you call that a kiss?”

Keith felt at a loss for words. “What?”

Lance’s laughed again, his smile returning to his face with a bit more confidence. “Here, let me show you how you really kiss.”

He stepped up to face Keith, bringing his other hand up to gently caress his cheek. Keith’s breath caught in his throat as Lance leaned in, eyelids drooping as he did so. Lance pressed their foreheads together, brushing their noses before he tilted his head to the side, pressing soft lips against Keith’s. This kiss was infinitely more tender than the first, Lance moving his lips gently and languidly against Keith’s, prompting Keith to tentatively try and reciprocate. At that, Lance let go of his wrist, snaking his arm across his lower back as he pulled their bodies flush against one another. Keith hummed his approval against Lance’s mouth, bringing his hands up to rest atop Lance’s shoulders.

“Holy shit,” Keith breathed once they broke apart. He opened his eyes to look back to Lance, who still wore a cocky smirk in spite of the flush that had spread across his cheeks.

“I get that a lot.” Keith rolled his eyes, but pulled Lance in for another kiss, unable to resist the temptation now that he knew he could.

“Wait, wait.” Keith pulled back once more. “Did you kiss me because you wanted to, or was it just to show me up?”

Lance laughed. “A bit of both?” Keith pushed his shoulders away, breaking out of Lance’s grip as he laughed too.

“God, you’re such an asshole.”

“No wait—Keith? Does this mean you have a crush on me?” He taunted. “That’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable.” Keith shook his head, starting to turn away before Lance caught his hands again.

“Aw c’mon, you suffer me plenty.” Lance grinned, stepping back in front of Keith and looking fondly into his eyes. “Y’know,” Lance giggled, trying to continue his sentence despite it, “you should probably put a shirt on. We don’t want someone walking in and getting the wrong idea.” He waggled his eyebrows, and Keith couldn’t help but laugh.

“The men’s room at Nationals, in the middle of competition? I’d hope that we’d have a bit more class than that, Lance.”

Lance shrugged, letting go of Keith’s hands before turning around and crouching down to pick up Keith’s shirt. “Maybe we’re just passionate like that.” He stood back up, tossing the shirt back for Keith to catch. He did, shaking the creases out and pulling it over his head. “So wait, serious question: this means you like me, right?”

“What?” Keith pulled his head through the collar of the shirt, giving Lance an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? Lance, I _kissed_ you.” He put his arms through the sleeves and straightened the design over his chest.

“Yeah but…” Lance shifted nervously on his feet. “I thought maybe there was something happening with you and Matt.”

“Wh—Matt? Wait, was that why you were acting all weird?”

“You were flirting with him!” Lance accused.

“I was not!” Keith sputtered. “We were just talking!”

“You guys were holding hands!”

“Lance, you’ve held my hands too!”

“Yeah, because I _liked_ you!” Lance rolled his eyes,  bending down to pick up the bag. “Jeez, Keith. Learn to take a hint.”

Keith laughed. “Really, even back then? Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you were all about the big confessions of love.”

Lance gave a nervous chuckle. “Well, I mean, I didn’t really know it back then. And besides, by the time I’d figured it out, you were telling me all about how you just wanted to be friends!”

“I did want to be friends! You were the one who said you didn’t date teammates, what was I supposed to tell you?”

“In my defence, that was Hunk who told you about that, not me.”

“It’s still your rule.”

Lance shrugged. “Okay, then I’m breaking the rule. You’re a bad influence on me, Keith Kogane. Next thing you know,  _I’m_ going to be the one getting arrested!” He joked. They stood in a momentary silence, each watching the other with a fond look, but not making a move to break it.

“We should probably go back to the competition now,” Keith suggested. He didn’t really want to leave the warmth of the moment, but he reasoned that Hunk and Matt were waiting for them, along with Pidge.

“Probably. Hunk’s been texting me nonstop for about five minutes now.” Lance pulled his phone out, swiping the screen to pull up their chat. “Oh jeez yeah, she’s about to start warming up vault. C’mon.” He grabbed Keith’s hand, intertwining their fingers, and led the way out.

“Are we seriously going to hold hands on the way out of the washroom?”

Lance shrugged, pushing through the doorway. “I want to show off my boyfriend, so sue me.”

“ _Boyfriend_?” Keith laughed, a nervous excitement bubbling in his chest as they cut through the crowds. “We haven’t even gone out on a date yet, Lance.”

“Uh, Mall Prom? That was totally our first date.”

Keith bumped his shoulder against Lance’s. “It can’t be a date, we weren’t dating back then.”

“I still count it.”

“Alright, but don’t think you’re going to get a second date if it’s going to be as bad as the first.”

Lance scoffed. “Wrong again, welcome to date  _numero dos, muchacho_ .” He purposely butchered the pronunciation of his mother tongue, and Keith thought it definitely didn’t have the right to be as cute as it was.

“So let me get this straight: on our first date, you make me wear a dress and take me to McDonald’s. On our second, I get soda thrown on me by a stranger and we make out in a public bathroom.” Keith snorted.

“Keith, buddy, you’ve got a lot comin’ for you if you thought _that_ was making out.” 

Lance lifted his free hand up to acknowledge Hunk as they climbed the steps back to their seats. Hunk and Matt both gave a pointed look to their connected hands, and Keith fought the urge to pull his hand back from embarrassment, remembering that this made Lance happy, and that was worth any teasing from the rest of them.

Hunk and Matt exchanged a look, both failing to hold back a smile. “Did we miss something while you two were gone?” Hunk asked.

Lance shrugged nonchalantly, sliding in and taking the inner seat. Keith followed and took the outer seat, their hands still intertwined. “Keith confessed  that h e had a huge crush on me. It was pretty embarrassing.”

Keith gasped, shoving Lance hard with his free hand. “You kissed me!”

“You started it!” Lance accused, looking offended as he straightened himself back.

“You two are impossible,” Hunk laughed, interrupting their fight before it could even start, “but I’m glad you’re both finally together. It’s been pretty painful watching the two of you figure it out.”

They both spun back to look at him. “What?” They cried in unison.

Hunk laughed again. “Pidge figured you’d never work it out unless we told you, but I told her the two of you just needed to take your time. And it worked, right?” He grinned, sounding self-satisfied.

Keith had no reply to mount, so he was thankful when Lance spoke up into the silence. “How long have you guys known?”

Hunk shrugged. “For you? I’ve known pretty much since you came to VGA.”

“Bullshit!” Lance sputtered, before slapping a hand to his mouth. He pulled the hand away a second later. “I meant crap. But you couldn’t have, _I_ didn’t even know back then!”

A realisation dawned on Keith. “Wait, he talked about me before I came to Voltron?”

Lance shot Hunk a pleading look, but it had no effect. “Oh yeah. All the time—”

“Hunk!” Lance interrupted, but Hunk just shrugged, feigning innocence.

Keith smirked.  “You never told me you were such a fan, Lance. If I had known, I would’ve given you an autograph,”  he taunted.

Lance pointedly ignored him.  “Oh look, Pidge is up next,”  he said, an obivous redirection.

“ _Now on vault, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Katelyn Holt._ ” They all joined in the cheer of the crowd, Lance squeezing his hand harder once the applause had died down, then releasing it to steal a plate of nachos off Hunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pterodactyl screeching* Also one more chapter to go!!!  
> If you’re enjoying the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!
> 
>  
> 
> [ Pidge's acro series (0:12) and standing full (0:28) ](https://youtu.be/NiaE7amNW7s?t=12/)


	16. Stick It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a head at Night Two of Nationals, and Keith’s determined to give it his all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOO NAME DROP. Enjoy the last formal chapter of Stick It! (I wrote a silly epilogue because I wanted to but like this is essentially the end of the plot/resolution)

“ _How are you feeling about tomorrow?_ ” Lance had pulled Keith aside from dinner last night for a private conversation. Keith remembered the feeling of Lance’s hands resting against his shoulders, reminding him of Shiro’s standard pep talk in some abstract fashion. It had been familiar, comfortingly so.

“You can do this, Keith!” He heard Shiro now, his booming voice and clapping hands anchoring Keith’s mind in the moment while it drifted back to his memories of last night.

“ _I couldn’t sleep last night, you know? And I was thinking about your routines from Night One_.” Lance had smiled so assuringly, forgetting immediately about his own problems to help with Keith’s. Keith had idly figured that they both coped with their nerves through distraction. “ _It’s funny…_ ”

Keith rolled his neck out, going through the motions of his parallel bars routine while he waited for the judge’s signal. He thought through Lance’s words from last night to prepare for it.

“ _When you first came to Voltron, you were all over the place. You had no control o_ _ver_ _your power, and I was seriously afraid you were going to bust a knee or rupture something_.” He had laughed, the mere memory of it tugging a smile at the corners of Keith’s lips in the moment. “ _But last night, you were nothing like that. You were hesitant, and you were cautious. You weren’t you. And I think… that was the problem. Keith, you need to compete your gymnastics, not anyone else’s. It’s daring, it’s dangerous, it’s risky, it’s—it’s you._ ” Lance had smiled at him, swelling with pride. “ _So promise me that tomorrow, you’re not going to hold back. I want you to leave it all out there on the competition floor. No regrets._ ”

The judge raised their flag, and Keith saluted.

“ _I promise._ ” Keith had told him, and he wasn’t going back on it now.

He grabbed the bars and jumped off, uprising into handstand. He swung into his Diamidov, ending it on one bar before twisting into the Healy, swinging back to handstand. He dropped down to the next Healy, connecting it to the basket-1/2, and pausing in the handstand for a moment, reminding himself to breathe before his first release. He swung down into the giant, then tapped up into the Belle, catching the bar cleanly on his arms. He swung back to handstand before kicking into his Harada, spotting the bars in the turn before catching, uprising back into handstand. He dropped down into his Dimitrenko, kicking back into his half-pirouette and ending it with good control. He adjusted his hands a bit, then swung down for his Arabian. Catching it well, he kicked up forcefully, extending himself as much as he could before snapping back, driving his feet over his head before straddling in the front 5/4. He caught it with plenty of height, swinging back into the final handstand before his dismount.

He swung down and kicked over the side bar, pulling his legs in tight for his double pike. Spotting his landing perfectly, he dropped into an effortless stick. There was no comfort quite like feeling the landing mat under your feet after a flawless routine, and Keith was overcome with the relief of finally dismounting. Keith wasn’t much for post-routine celebrations, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he turned to bow to the judges, pumping a fist up in the air and throwing his head back in relief. He heard the cheers of the crowd, which had grown to an almost deafening level at his fifth hit routine of the night.

“A beautiful set, Keith,” Allura complimented from her place beside the mat, holding a hand out for a high-five that Keith reciprocated. They both jumped down from the podium, rushing back to prepare for their final rotation. “Let’s get ready for the grand finale.” He nodded, reaching into his bag and taking a swig from his water, then switching the bottle with his grips, starting to buckle them on.

“Dude, that was insane!” Hunk cheered, clapping him once on the back. Keith abandoned his grips for a moment to right himself and look over to Hunk, who held his arms open for a hug. Grinning, Keith obliged it, letting Hunk momentarily crush Keith’s face into his chest before mercifully relinquishing.

“Thanks, Hunk.” Keith said, turning back to hurry with his grips as Hunk went off to prepare himself too.

“You know,” he heard Lance start from his other side, “it’d be nice for Hunk to let _me_ hug you first for once.” Keith rolled his eyes. “He’s such a hug-hog.” Lance stepped up next to him, Keith seeing him lean a hand against the wall casually.

“It’s too bad,” Keith chuckled, “’cause right now I think I’m all hugged out.” He heard Lance’s indignant gasp and tried to keep his expression as straight as possible, finally managing to get the second buckle through. He adjusted the grips, standing upright now and pulling his ponytail tight, turning to face Lance. “Yeah. I’d say I’m good up until my next retirement.”

Lance’s pout gave way to a devilish smirk. “So I’ve only got to wait until you bail before next rotation?”

Keith shoved at his chest, laughing openly now. “Shut up.”

“Okay, even I’ll admit, that was a bit low. So I’ll apologize, but only with a hug.” He held his arms open wide, fluttering his lashes in an attempt to look coy.

Keith shook his head, ducking to hide the blush that crept across his cheeks, but obliged the hug. “Are we seriously going to be a PDA couple? I did not sign up for this.”

“Okay, first of all, hugging is not PDA. We’re going to need to put you through a crash course on what normal physical intimacy is. Second, yes, we are totally going to be a gross PDA couple. And third, don’t pretend you don’t secretly enjoy it, because I know you do.”

“Absolutely not,” Keith denied, although he did hang on a bit too long for someone who was supposedly being forced into this embrace.

“ _The score for Keith Kogane on Parallel Bars—_ ”

“Crap, we’ve got to go,” Lance spoke up, interrupting the calling of Keith’s score and breaking out of the embrace. “C’mon.” He walked off to catch up with their group, already having left without them, and Keith followed swiftly behind.

* * *

 

Keith sat next to Lance on the sidelines, both still a bit out of breath from warm-up. They had promised each other that they wouldn’t look at the scoreboard until the competition’s end, focusing on their performances and not on their placement. This mostly left them staring at the floor, as they desperately resisted the urge to look up to the jumbotron that read their standings in the most convenient location to see, but the least to avoid. They’d mostly coped with the waiting by engaging in conversation with one another, but had found themselves in a rare silence right now, unsure of what to discuss. Suddenly Keith was struck with an idea.

“You know, you never did finish the Pit Story,” he mused, trying to keep his tone casual.

Lance started, as though Keith had snapped him out of a daydream. “Hm?” He looked up with wide eyes, before he tuned back in to the real world, expression softening into a smile. “Oh, that’s right. Since we were kind of rudely interrupted by the judges last time.”

Keith snorted. “Okay but that time we were the ones being rude, to be fair.”

“Didn’t they see there was an important discussion going on? The nation can wait for the Pit Story.”

“God knows I have.” Keith laughed. “So c’mon, finish it.”

“The ending’s not that good, I’m going to be honest.” Lance shook his head.

Keith shrugged. “I still want to hear it. I need a resolution.”

Lance grinned, voice picking up speed as he started the story once more. “Alright, so yeah, I was stuck. I tried my best to get out, but I just couldn’t.” He turned forward, eyes distant as he narrated his story. “So I… uh…” he gave a nervous laugh, “I started shouting. And I mean they eventually heard me, but the problem was…” He trailed off into giggles, allowing them to settle before he tried again. “The problem was they didn’t know where I was. And, like, I couldn’t see either, y’know? So I couldn’t really tell them where I was. I wasn’t really paying attention to where I’d jumped, and at this point I’d been in there for about three hours or so, so I’d forgotten everything I had known except that awful, awful stink. So the Lance McClain Search and Rescue turned into a kind of game of Marco Polo, courtesy of our resident geniuses Hunk Garrett and Pidge Holt. Eventually, they found me. It took another, like, ten days to extract me, and I spent about four hours in the shower that night…” He trailed off, wearing an expression found halfway between a grimace and a smile.

Keith laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, that’s not the most riveting conclusion.”

Lance shrugged, looking back to him. “But that’s life, I guess.”

“At least it had a happy ending.”

“Like hell it did,” Lance cried, “I smelled for weeks!”

“ _Now on High Bar, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Hunk Garrett._ ” They clapped along with the crowd, allowing their attention to return to the competition for their teammate’s sake.

Keith took a steadying breath, looking up to the podium now to watch Hunk mount. “Here he goes. You nervous?”

“Insanely,” Lance whined melodramatically, “I’m going to need to hold your hand!”

Keith snickered, but pulled his fingers out of his grips and held his hand out anyway as he watched Hunk hop up. “Now is this for the PDA, or is this revenge for holding Matt’s hand yesterday?”

Lance snatched it greedily, squeezing his fingers tight. “Two birds, one stone. Well, also because I really am nervous. So I guess three birds. Man, I’m one hell of a sharpshooter, aren’t I?” Lance bragged. They cheered as Hunk caught his Yamawaki. “He’s got all the big colleges looking for him, you know? It’s going to be a whirlwind next few months for us, trying to decide on the best one for him. I want him to have fun and compete, but I also don’t want him to slack on his studies, but I also don’t want him to have to pull his whole team’s weight, but also—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupted, laughing, “calm down. You do realize he’s got his own real parents to figure this out with him, right?”

“He might not be my blood, Keith, but he’s my son! I raised him to be the man he is today!”

Keith squeezed his fingers. “Sure, okay. You’re going to be a good dad some day, Lance,” he mused, not really thinking as he said the first thing that came to mind.

Lance rested his head on Keith’s shoulder, heaving an airy sigh. “I didn’t really think you’d be the kind to want kids, Keith.”

Keith’s heart started racing. “I—uh—” he stammered, “i-it’s way too early to think about that, Lance!” His cheeks burned as Lance chuckled.

“Okay, my bad, but you _were_ the one who brought it up.”

Keith swallowed, speaking up into the silence that had manifested between them. “… Just for the record, though, I do like kids.”

Lance gave a delighted gasp. “Keith, you do have a soft spot! This is the best, man.”

“C’mon, Hunk!” Keith shouted, dropping the conversation as he saw Hunk winding up for his dismount. “Finish strong!” They both sat up rigidly as Hunk let go, flipping and twisting twice before his feet found the ground, stepping back to catch his balance before saluting. They both shot up to their feet and hollered, their voices lost in the sound of the cheering crowd. Hunk clapped his hands together, giving his own cheer of relief as he stepped down from the apparatus.

They let their lifted hands drop, Lance squeezing his fingers once more to catch his attention. “Hey, so remember what we talked about last night?”

Keith turned back to face him, giving him a confident smile that he, for once, didn’t need to force. “No holding back.”

“No regrets.” Lance beamed, letting his hand go. “Now go out there and floor it.” Keith turned around, hearing Lance clap his hands encouragingly. “Let’s go, Keith!”

“Keith,” Shiro called, stepping up towards him to meet him at the base of the podium. He studied Keith’s face for a moment, sighing and giving a relieved smile as he sensed he wasn’t needed for a pep talk. “You’ve got this.” Keith nodded, feeling his own confidence grow as he turned away and stepped up to the podium. He passed Hunk on his way up to the chalk bin, exchanging a wide grin with the boy.

“Way to eat mat, Hunk.” Keith joked, clapping him on the shoulder as they passed.

“Hell yeah. Show ‘em how it’s done, Keith!” Hunk called over his shoulder, Keith laughing as he stepped up to the bin and started to chalk up. The din of the competition faded away as he let his mind’s focus sharpen on his upcoming routine. In the back of his mind, he registered Hunk’s score getting called, and took it as his cue to step up to the competition mat. The judge held their flag aloft, and Keith watched the screen that rested next to the judge’s table count down from thirty. _Twenty-nine, twenty-eight_ …

“Keith,” He heard Coran call out softly from behind him, anchoring him in the real world. _Twenty-five, twenty-four_. “Are you ready?”

Keith took a deep breath, starting to feel the nerves bubble in his chest.  _Twenty, nineteen._ He nodded,  _seventeen, sixteen_ . “Just getting there.”  _Channel it, Keith. Don’t hold back_ .  _Twelve, eleven, ten, let’s go_ . He lifted his arm in a salute, feeling Coran grab at his waist and hoist him up to mix-grip hang.

After a breath, he kicked into his swing and back into the uprise-half. He accelerated through the two giants before his piked Kovac, opening up with plenty of time to catch it effortlessly.  _One down_ , Keith assured himself. He dropped down into his next giant, swinging aggressively in the one after to wind up for his Cassina. He fought back the urge to hold back by pushing himself twice as hard, lifting off into the release and twisting, reaching out for where the bar was supposed to be. He barely caught it on his dowel, relief washing over him as he swung back into handstand. He resettled his swing in another two circles. He counted out his timing in his stalder pirouette, reminding himself not to rush, then swung forward and switched into reverse grip. He froze in the handstand a moment, allowing himself a second to think before he went through his Kolman connection.

_Don’t hold back. Don’t catch it close. Don’t play it safe._

He stooped through the Alder, kicking out aggressively into the half-pirouette and dropping into the downswing, gaining speed until he kicked up and let go into the Kolman, catching on the other side of the bar and gripping it a bit tighter than he really needed. When he finally settled in the handstand out the swing, he let himself breathe.  _Thank fuck_ , he thought. If he hadn’t been still competing, he might’ve let out a relieved laugh. He swung back into a blind-change over the bar, stooping through his Alder-full and swinging back into the Yamawaki, eyes on the bar the whole time as he reached out to catch it effortlessly, kipping up to handstand out of it. He was almost there. He could see the finish line.  _Giant, hop-full, accelerate, let go_ . He pulled his arms in tight to twist  through his dismount , ending it with air to spare and opening up, praying he’d find the stick.

His feet hit the ground and his shoulders dipped back, over-rotating by just a hair, digging his heels into the mat to fight for the landing. He windmilled his arms once, twice.  _Come on, come on_ . He pulled them forward, feeling his weight finally settle over his toes. He smirked, and the crowd went wild.

By God, he stuck it. His smile stretched into a grin as he felt relief wash over him, nodding momentarily to the judges before he clapped his hands together, throwing both his fists in the air as he laughed. He looked back to his team, full of smiles and cheering emphatically. He looked up to scan through to the crowd, unable to locate his friends and family, but giving a wave around knowing that no matter where they were, they would see it. The cheer rung through his mind until it died down, and he took his cue to come off the podium. As he walked down the steps, he looked up to see Lance stepping up, grinning up at him despite knowing his routine was next. Lance offered a hand up in a high five.

“Way to stick it, Keith!” Keith returned the high five, grabbing onto Lance’s hand to stop him before he walked up. Lance looked a bit surprised at this, but Keith just smiled back, holding his hand tight in spite of the stiff leather handgrips that sat between them.

“Why don’t you show me how to _really_ stick it, Lance?” After a moment, Lance smiled, the gesture filling Keith’s heart with warmth, before nodding emphatically. They let go, and Keith turned his attention back to the rest of his team.

Coran was the first to greet him, an ecstatic grin stretching his mouth as he grabbed both of Keith’s shoulders, pulling him into an unexpected hug. “A gorgeous routine, Keith!”  Coran pulled back from the surprising embrace to fix him once again with that grin. “Why, I can’t think of a single deduction the judges could take!”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Allura spoke up. Keith turned to face her, and she wore a grin despite it. “I think that landing might need a little work, if we’re going to take it to Worlds.” She offered her arms out for a hug too, and Keith laughed as he obliged it, taken aback by the unusual display of affection from her but too happy to question it.

“I think we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves if we’re already thinking about Worlds.” Keith replied, pulling out of the hug and stepping towards his bag, starting to unbuckle his grips.

“Keith!” Hunk cried, sending Keith stumbling off a few steps to the side as he tackled him in yet another hug. He awkwardly tried to reciprocate the hug with his arms locked at his sides in Hunk’s grip. “That was insane!”

“Thanks, Hunk. I’m just so glad to be done the competition.”

“You can say that again,” Hunk concurred, letting Keith go and sitting down in his chair. “Now we’ve just got to wait for Lance’s routine.”

“ _The score for Keith Kogane on High Bar, 16.3_ ”

“Shit,” Keith breathed, chuckling as he turned back to face the podium once more. It was the first score he’d actually listened to all night, and he was glad to hear it was a vast improvement from the first night’s score. He watched as Lance chalked up, now the only competitor left on the stage. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Shiro walk up to him. He slung his prosthetic arm over Keith’s shoulders, giving the one opposite him a warm squeeze.

“So, you looking forward to going back to Worlds?” Shiro asked, grinning widely.

Keith shook his head. “First Allura, now you? Damn, d’you guys really think I have a shot?”

“Keith,” Shiro laughed, “look up at the scoreboard.”

Keith furrowed his brow, scanning up the places as he tried to find his name.  _10_ _th_ _, 9_ _th_ _, 8_ _th_ _… where the fuck am I?_ Keith frowned in concentration, finishing up at first and taking another go at it.

“Keith.” Shiro poked at his arm, using the finger to point up to the jumbotron once he’d regained his attention. “At the top.” Keith looked back, eyes going wide as he saw it:

1 st  – Keith Kogane –VGA –182.064

Keith felt the wind knocked out of him, trying to find the words to say. “I’m… in first?”

Shiro nodded. “With only one competitor left to go.”

“ _Now on High Bar, for Voltron Gymnastics Academy, Lance McClain._ ”

“Lance,” Keith breathed. Lance could beat him, could _win_ this. If he put it to his feet, Keith knew that Lance could win. Keith set his jaw, clapping his hands twice as he stepped forward to the edge of the podium. “C’mon Lance, you can do it!”

Shiro walked up to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Keith, folding his arms across his chest as they watched Lance mount, kicking up into his giant. “You’re not worried he’s going to beat you?”

Keith rested his hands down on the edge of the podium, leaning forward and setting his jaw. “I hope he does.”

Shiro was stunned silent for a moment. “Wow,” he chuckled, “I never thought I’d live to hear you say that.”

Keith bit his lip. “He deserves this more than me—Hold it, Lance, c’mon!” He slapped his palms down on the podium as Lance hesitated out of a pirouette, leaning forward as though he could will Lance to make it over, and finally releasing his breath when he did.

Shiro leaned his elbows on the podium next to him, peering into Keith’s field of vision. “So you’re okay with losing?”

Keith shrugged, smirking. “I’ll just have to kick his ass at Worlds, I guess.” Shiro laughed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know how Allura and I are going to handle the both of you on the same Worlds team.”

“Well, tough. ‘Cause this time, I’m not letting you out of my sight until the plane lands. No going off to build houses in South America or some shit. Not until I get that gold medal.” They cheered as Lance caught his last release.

“Just the dismount,” Shiro said. “All he needs is to put it to his feet.”

“He’s going to stick it.”

“How do you know?”

Keith answered matter-of-factly. “Because I told him to.” Shiro laughed, the sound briefly filling the silence that fell over the stadium as Lance released for his dismount.  _Come on, Lance._ Keith furrowed his brow. Keith could swear his heart had stopped for that infinitely long second when Lance had hung in the air, but sure enough, Lance’s feet hit the mat, and he didn’t move an inch. In an instant, Keith felt all the tension release in his muscles, his heart soared as he threw his arms in the air and cheered. The crowd immediately followed, and his voice was lost in the eruption of applause.

Shockingly, Lance’s reaction was a lot more subdued. He held that stick for a few moments, as though trying to prove it had actually happened, then stood up slowly, clicking his heels together and bowing his head to the judges. He lifted his head up, then brought both his hands to his mouth, taking a few slow steps off towards the edge of the podium, and Keith realised as soon as he’d caught a glimpse of Lance’s face that he was crying. He pulled his hands up to wave towards the crowd, earning a more raucous applause when he acknowledged the spectators, their cheers growing even louder. Lance was smiling, and Keith found it infectious. He grinned through his tears, dropping his arms as he jumped down off the side of the podium.

Shiro started making his way over to him, and Keith watched as he earned his first hug, a crushing embrace from Hunk. Keith kept himself back, fighting the urge to run up to Lance. A selfish part of him wanted to be the last hug Lance got, because he knew he’d never want to let go. His next hug was from Coran, the man finding himself overtaken by tears as well. Keith laughed at the display; Lance  _was_ Coran’s favourite, after all. Then it was Allura, who held him delicately, then pulled him away to arms-length, bringing a pointed finger between them and lecturing him on his deductions. Lance laughed despite the lecture, wiping his tears on his forearm as he nodded, probably hardly listening. She gave a gentle smile, before stepping back to allow Shiro to get his turn. Lance gripped him hard, shutting his eyes as Shiro embraced him tightly. Shiro pulled away and put a hand on his arm, then pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards Keith.

Keith felt his heart swell as he was finally under Lance’s gaze, and he held his arms out in a silent invitation. Lance laughed, stepping towards him. Keith’s feet started to move on their own accord, and he laughed nervously as he felt a magnetic power pull him towards Lance. They closed the gap quickly, colliding harshly into one-another and holding tight.

Lance was almost soaking wet on Keith’s skin, through the tears and the sweat, and it only made Keith hold him tighter, feeling the quake of Lance’s sobs against his chest. But this was nothing like the last time Lance had cried in his arms. This time, the tears were happy. This time, they embraced each other with honest intentions, neither hiding their true feelings from the other anymore. And it was the closest thing to bliss Keith thought he’d ever feel. It was awkward, it was embarrassing, and if Keith was going to be frank, it was a bit gross, but it was perfect.

“I’m so glad you were here,” Lance murmured into Keith’s shoulder, voice shaking through his emotions. “I’m so glad you stayed.”

“Me too.”

“ _The score for Lance McClain on High Bar: 15.233_ ”

Keith  looked up to the sound, then  grinned. “Congrats, National Champion.”

“What?” Lance breathed, and Keith forced himself out of their hug, turning towards the scoreboard and pointing up.

“Look.”

1 st – Lance McClain – VGA – 183.980 

2 nd – Keith Kogane – VGA – 182.064

Lance’s eyes went wide as he saw the score, then his expression crumpled a few seconds after, and he turned in to Keith’s collar, hiding his face as he sobbed with renewed purpose. Keith laughed as he wrapped his arms around Lance once more, rubbing a gentle hand against his back as he cried.

* * *

 

“This wasn’t exactly a planned comeback,” Keith explained, trying to keep his eyes on the interviewer and not the microphone they stuck uncomfortably close to his face, “so I’m not expecting myself to be one hundred percent yet. Night One was a good example of that. I still need to work on my consistency when it comes to future competitions.” He shifted nervously under the lens of the camera, hoping that it wouldn’t show in the video when it was posted.

The interviewer nodded. “And what would you say was the difference-maker between the first night of competition and tonight? What was it that changed in your performances?”

“I guess it was just…” he flicked his eyes past the interviewer, looking up to where Lance went through his own interview, gesturing jubilantly and laughing raucously. Keith smiled, bringing his attention back to his own interview. “… that I took a different approach. Tonight, I wanted to make sure I focused on the performance, and not the deductions. So I think that brought me back to my old style of competing: not being afraid to make mistakes or take risks.”

“Your biggest rival at this point is also your teammate, do you think that there’s some tension between the two of you, despite your friendship?” In his peripheral vision, he saw Lance step away from his interview, and his heart started to race as he saw him start to make his way over. He prayed that the interview would wrap itself up soon.

“Lance and I have always been very competitive, even when we trained together as juniors. I don’t think that’s ever going to change, but I think that it makes us push each other to be better gymnasts. He and I have grown a lot because of each other, and I don’t think any of that’s going to be different now that he’s National Champion.” Lance stood right behind the interviewer, arms folded as he tapped his foot. Keith fought the urge to look at him, remembering that this was going to be posted online, and his friends would never let him live down having footage of making googly-eyes at his boyfriend when he was supposed to be answering questions from the press. This was technically his job, after all, once his sponsorships came through again.

“So what’s on your mind for Worlds?”

_Keep it short, Keith._ “I feel a lot more confident going in to Worlds this year. I think that with a few more months of training, I’m going to have some really good routines to put up.”

The interviewer nodded. “Thanks for your time, Keith. Congratulations on the performance.”

“Thanks,” Keith spoke, waiting impatiently for them to step away and for Lance to step up into their space. He wore a confident smirk that Keith reciprocated.

“So you must be hurting pretty bad, losing to your rival at Nationals ‘n all.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “And what about you? You almost got beat by your rival after a two-year retirement.”

“I won by over a point!” Lance cried.

“Because I fell,” Keith pointed out.

Lance unfolded his arms, slinging one over Keith’s shoulder and bringing the other up to point a finger under Keith’s nose. “And if you didn’t, I still would’ve won.”

Keith scoffed, pushing the hand away from his face. “Well you better enjoy the win while you still can, because it’s the last time I’m taking second to you in the  a ll  a round.”

“Oh?” Lance quirked an eyebrow up, leaning closer with a mischievous smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“I’d prefer to think of it as a guarantee.” Lance brought his free hand up to cup Keith’s cheek, and Keith rolled his eyes, sensing where Lance was going with this. “Are you seriously going to kiss me in front of everyone?”

Lance shrugged. “What? This is a time for celebration, and I want to celebrate!” Keith scoffed, but grabbed his face and kissed him first, not allowing Lance the satisfaction of embarrassing him.

“Lance, Keith,” Keith heard Allura chide over his shoulder. The broke the kiss and turned back to watch her stride over, hands still all over each other. “I’d urge you both to have a bit more discretion. You are teammates first and boyfriends second.”

“Allura, I thought you’d be happy.” Lance pouted. “Keith and I are finally getting along, just like you wanted.”

She stopped in front of them, folding her arms. “I know better than to hope for that, Lance. You two better not bring any lover’s quarrels into training, especially not while we need to focus on Worlds. Now let’s go, we’ve got an early morning flight tomorrow.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

They let their hands drop and followed her, hanging back from her aggressive strides by taking up a more leisurely pace. “She’s happy for us, y’know,” Lance leaned in to murmur. “She just doesn’t want us to know it.”

Keith snorted, shaking his head. “She’s jealous ‘cause she wants to suck face with Shiro but she can’t. Those two are hopeless.”

Lance laughed. “You noticed that too?”

“It’s hard not to.” They watched from a distance as she and Shiro spoke by their bags, lost in each other’s eyes and oblivious to the other’s evident crush. “How long’s that been going on?”

“Years.” Lance laughed. “It’s been painful to watch, but Hunk’s convinced we’ve got to let it play out.”

Keith shrugged. “It worked for us.”

“Yeah,” Lance supposed, “but I don’t think it’d hurt if we, y’know, just kind of… gave them both a little shove.”

Keith nodded. “Oh, I’m with you there.”

“So it’s agreed? Our first couple’s project is to get those two together?”

Keith sighed. “Usually couples just take up hobbies together, like knitting or surfing or something.”

“Yeah but neither of us have time for that with our schedules. Plus, I already know how to knit.”

Keith shot him an incredulous look. “Serious?”

Lance grinned. “What did I tell you? Man of the world right here.”

“Alright, fine. We’ll get my hopeless brother and our equally hopeless coach to finally figure out their damn feelings.”

“They better make me the Best Man at their wedding.”

“Uh, no, that’ll be me. Brother of the groom?”

“Yeah, but once I tell Shiro about how you plotted to meddle in their relationship, he might not be so keen to put you as Best Man.”

Keith shoved his shoulder. “That was your plan!”

Lance laughed. “ _Our_ plan, and I’m obviously not going to tell him that!”

“What plan?” They heard Hunk speak up, walking up to meet the two with Pidge at his side.

“Pidge, they let you on the floor?” Keith leaned over to ask.

Pidge shrugged, grinning devilishly. “No one told me I  _couldn’t_ . So anyways, what’s this plan you two’re talking about?”

“The plan to finally get Shiro and Allura together,” Lance replied.

Hunk groaned. “Not this again. I’m telling you guys, they just need their space.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “What space? Those two work nonstop! They haven’t had a night off in, like, two years. I bet Allura talks about gymnastics at the coaches banquets too, poor Shiro’s got no chance if we don’t interfere.”

“Are you kidding me?” Keith laughed. “Shiro’s just as bad as Allura. On the plane ride here she fell asleep on his shoulder and he woke her up to let her know so she ‘didn’t hurt her back.’”

Pidge rubbed her hands together mischievously. “Okay, so we’re agreed. It’s up to us to make sure they get together, no matter the means.”

“No no,” Lance replied, “we have to be delicate about this. We can’t just lock them in a room together and hope they’ll mack!”

“Have you seen them?” Keith shook his head. “We’re going to need a jackhammer to get it through their thick skulls.”

“To be fair,” Hunk spoke up, “Pidge and I thought the same of you two.”

“We get it, Hunk,” Pidge groaned, “I was wrong, and you were right. Now can we just focus on the important things? Like concrete plans. I was thinking more along the lines of recorded confessions.”

“Where’s the finesse?” Lance cried, and Keith laughed as the four of them debated the topic all the way out the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance: man Shiro and Allura are so BLIND like can they not see it???  
> Pidge and Hunk:.................... Birch—  
> Also I love Lance so much in this story because like… he’s like my personal gymnast-shaped middle finger to the idea of toxic masculinity. Like I really found it important to myself to have a really strong character like Lance who cries, and who can let himself be seen in a vulnerable way while not being perceived as a weak character. I didn’t just want to show Lance crying from heartache, I wanted to also show Lance crying because he’s so elated and proud and just really fucking happy. It’s a bit of me trying to say that it’s okay to let yourself be weak, that it’s okay to cry sometimes, and that you don’t have to hide that part of yourself, because it’s something I struggle with on a constant basis, personally.  
> Wow, it’s the end of the formal story. There were so many times I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I’m still a very inexperienced writer, and I’ve never written anything a TENTH of this length, so like… wow. Thank you so much for being a part of this journey for me. I really feel like I grew a lot through this process, and this story meant a whole lot to me in my development as a writer, as well as serving as a huge confidence boost. Man, I had so much fun writing this fic, and who knows, maybe I’ll write something else once this is published! Either that, or I’ll catch up on all the much-needed sleep I’ve been losing between this, work, and school.  
> As I said in every chapter, if you enjoyed the fic, please kudo, comment (even just to say you finished it like that would be such an honour to me to have someone read this whole thing to completion), and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)! Your support would mean a whole lot to me. In any event, thank you so much for sticking with this fic. It was a real labour of love and I hope it shines through <3


	17. Epilogue - Gymnastics Gala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I’m sure u can figure out that gymnastics galas are p much just like figure skating galas so all I’m gonna say is just watch  US gymnast Danell Leyva’s strip tease  from the gala at the Rio Olympics bc like yeah (dw it’s totally sfw. The olympics kinda have to be kid-friendly lmao)

“This,” Pidge announced, slamming a piece of paper on the fridge door and slapping a magnet down to hold it up, “is the official set of rules for Keith and Lance’s relationship in our household.

Keith leaned his head on Lance’s shoulder, still half-asleep from the rude awakening  Pidge ha d subjected her three roommates to at six in the morning. “Did you stay up all night writing these?”

Pidge nodded. “It seemed pertinent.”

“Allura’s going to kill you—” Hunk’s reply was interrupted by a stuttering yawn “—if you show up to training today looking like that.” He gestured vaguely to her messy hair and sunken eyes.

Pidge waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve already had three cups of coffee, I’ll be fine. If anything, I’ll be super charged.”

“Pidge, you’re too young to be drinking coffee! It’ll stunt your growth!” Lance whined.

“Lance, at this point I think I’ll be lucky to break five feet. I hardly imagine the coffee’s going to make that any worse. Besides, if you two were able to _keep it in your pants_ ,” she continued scathingly, “I wouldn’t have to be making this list, now would I? Rule number one:” She pointed a harsh finger at the page. “Any and all nasty business conducted by members of this household must take place in and only in their room, with a closed door.” Keith grimaced in shame as he was reminded of the exact reason for that rule: Pidge having walked in on them in a… delicate predicament the night before.

“You should have knocked!” Lance accused.

“I would have if you’d closed the door!” Pidge defended.

Keith sensed Lance was about to throw back another argument, so he spoke up. “To be fair,” he whacked Lance’s side lazily to catch his attention, “that was our bad.”

“Rule number two: no involving other members of the household in couple’s disagreements.”

“Now, hold on.” Keith held up a hand. “Does this mean my disagreements with Lance in general, or just on things we disagree with as a couple?”

“In general,” Hunk replied.

Keith frowned. “Well that’s hardly fair. Lance never accepts when he’s wrong.”

“Hey!” Lance cried indignantly. “Why are you expecting we’ll fight?”

Keith lifted his head to give Lance a pointed look. “I’m being practical.”

“You don’t have any faith that we’ll make this work?”

His voice was far too loud for the time of day, and it made Keith wince. “Wh—no, but couples fight all the time, it’s healthy.”

“I don’t know why I’d want to start a relationship with someone if I’m already planning to fight with them!” Lance huffed, folding his arms.

“I’m not planning to fight with you, Lance, I’m just saying—ugh, Pidge, do you _see_ what I mean?” He looked back to her, pleading.

She shook her head. “Don’t drag me into this. Rule number three:” she continued, halting their argument. “Any couple’s activities that are pursued in the communal spaces must not cross the line from cute to gross. I will be the one making the final call in the event of disagreement.”

“Why you?” Hunk complained.

“Because they’re obviously biased,” she waved a hand at Lance and Keith, “and you think everything they do is cute.”

“I—” Hunk started to fight back, but stopped with a defeated sigh. “Okay, fair enough. I’m happy, okay?”

“Happy you were right.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “Rule number four: no shower sharing.”

“Deal,” Keith said.

“What? No deal,” Lance protested.

“I’m not wasting three hours in the bathroom with you.”

“I don’t spend _three hours_ , and besides, what if I wanted to join you?”

Keith shot up an eyebrow. “You want to take an ice bath with me, Lance?”

“… Okay, fine. Deal,” he grumbled.

“And rule number five: any and all additions or changes to the rules must be unanimously agreed upon by each member of the house.”

“So why weren’t these rules unanimously agreed upon?” Lance asked.

“’Cause they’re my rules.”

Keith felt it too hard to keep his eyes open much longer. “Alright fine Pidge, we’re all agreed. Can we just go back to bed now?” He yawned.

Pidge nodded. “Please close the door if you need to.”

“Gross.” Keith scrunched his nose and stuck out his tongue as he started to walk away.

“Wh— _gross_? It’s not gross, it’s beautiful!” Lance protested, following behind Keith now. Keith sighed, wondering if he’d ever manage to fall back asleep now that he got Lance going. Lance leaned in as they made their way up the stairs, muttering. “On that note, since we’re already up, and we got interrupted last time—”

“Nope.” Keith didn’t even let him finish that sentence. “We’ve got training in, like, three hours, and I still need to fit about five hours of sleep somewhere in there.” They rounded the top of the stairs, walking back to Lance’s room.

“Keith, how I envy you,” Lance whined. “You fall asleep so fast at night, tell me how you do it.” They walked through the door, and Keith crashed back onto the bed. Lance rounded the other side of it, freeing the covers out from under Keith’s body, draping them over him, and slipping under the sheets himself.

“Simple: I just think about watching you compete, and I’m out like a light.”

Lance gave an insulted gasp, settling against Keith’s chest despite sounding deeply offended. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Hm? Sorry, can’t hear you, three-and-a-half to full, falling asleep… layout to two-and-a-half…” He started making exaggerated snoring noises, earning a thump against the chest that made him drop the act, snickering. “G’nite, Lance.”

Lance sat up, gesturing an arm over Keith and to the window. “What do you mean, ‘ _g’nite_ ’? The sun’s almost up!”

“Hey, if you want to go start your day, be my guest, but I’m sleeping.” Keith turned to his side, closing his eyes and letting himself sink down into the mattress. From behind him, he heard the sheets ruffle as Lance settled his chest against Keith’s back, an arm wrapping around Keith’s midsection and pulling him closer to Lance’s warmth. Keith smiled.

“You’re lucky you look cute when you sleep,” Lance muttered into Keith’s hair, shifting momentarily to press a kiss on Keith’s exposed neck before settling back in.

“Y’can’t even see my face,” Keith mumbled, already feeling himself start to drift towards slumber.

“Shh. If you’re talking, you’re not sleeping.”

“You talk in your sleep.” Keith yawned.

“Since when?”

“Since always. You wake me up with it.”

Lance hummed curiously.  “What sort of stuff do I say?”

“Ask me that when I’m awake.”

“What, you can’t tell me in your sleep?” He could hear Lance’s smirk.

Keith laughed. “Shut up and go to bed. Allura’s going to be riding our asses today, since it’s almost Worlds.”

“Man, four weeks,” Lance replied. “D’you think we’ll get her and Shiro together by then?”

“Lance…” Keith warned, sensing where this was going and knowing it wasn’t ‘sleep.’

He gasped, seeming undeterred by Keith’s unspoken warning. “Or what if we get them together at Worlds? Montreal’s bound to be full of romantic shit—hell, French is the language of love! They speak the language of  _love_ there, Keith.”

“I’m serious…”

“It’s like Canadian Paris over there, I’m sure of it. Ooh, d’you think they’ve got their own version of the Eiffel Tower—?”

“Alder-half to Tkatchev-half,” Keith interrupted. “Endo-full to Endo—”

“You missed a connection!” Lance protested.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Just go to sleep.”

Lance sighed. “Fine, but this conversation’s not over.” He adjusted once more, shuffling as close as possible to Keith. “Love you, g’nite.”

“I love you too, asshole. G’nite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reiterate: I’m a sap. Also I’m a sucker for a happy ending <3 sooo...  
> Hunk has a wildly successful collegiate career and does become an aerospace engineer (but he doesn’t open a restaurant on the moon sorry Lance), Pidge does actually make it to five feet in height (and the Women’s Olympic Team too), but no further, and Lance and Keith hold hands as they get their Olympic team gold medals together. Why? bECAUSE I AM A SAP.  
> Also after they get the gold medals Lance is like “hey so Keith I know this isn’t a ring but it’s round and gold btw will you marry me?” and everyone’s like aww but Keith’s like “bITCH U THOUGHT” and pulls out a ring from his gym bag and he’s like “I’ve been carrying it with me ever since we left Texas but I couldn’t find the right time to ask you so yeah I guess and also will u marry me” and it’s really sappy and Lance probably cries and Keith pretends he doesn’t but he so totally does and they live happily ever after thE END.  
> And one last time! If you enjoyed the fic, please kudo, comment, and/or [reblog on Tumblr](http://noussommeslessquelettes.tumblr.com/post/160322803061/stick-it-chapter-1-noussommeslessquelettes)!


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